Full Circle
by BrokenRose12
Summary: Life is full of choices, some easier to make than others. What if Molly followed after Sherlock when he left John and Mary's wedding early? Could one simple decision really have such a big effect on her life? Little did she know, in that moment her future would intertwine with his in the most unexpected way.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Sherlock or any of its characters. The story takes place at the end of The Sign of Three and the main paring is Sherlock and Molly, but it will have some John and Mary as well. I hope you enjoy the first chapter.**

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><p>The sound of music circled the room as people danced, holding smiles and cheerful discussion. Molly was happy as well, John and Mary were wed a matter of hours ago and by the looks of it, enjoying the company of one another. She swayed to the melody as Tom, her fiancé, did the same. She could hear Mrs. Hudson to the right of her, laughing away at something said and Greg wasn't that far behind when it came to conversation.<p>

The yellow dress, patterned with flowers similar in hue, was bought simply for this occasion. She found the color suiting for this event and was drawn to the bright pigment. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, the material pinning it in place matched her outfit as well. Molly always wore bright shades and designs, which in a way contrasted her line of work.

The brunette turned her head a bit, getting a glimpse of Sherlock through the crowd. A grin occupied his face, yet faded within the departure of John and his wife. Her movements slowed and her face started tilting to the side as her eyes followed him. Noticing how the man went to grab his coat and scarf, her mouth thinned out, almost as if concern was etching its way into her features.

Molly mentally debated on what to do. She should stay here with Tom but fleeing his company for that of the consulting detective; well the mere thought caused her to purse her lips. Her attachment towards Sherlock, despite the appeal she made earlier of being over him, was still there. She could sense it when he was near and feel it when her heartbeat rang loudly against her chest. But those were the wrong emotions to have; she was engaged and couldn't go following around the youngest Holmes like some kind of lost puppy.

She desperately tried to ignore the ongoing dispute in her mind, but that expression on his face… it was the same as before. When he though no one could see the sad look tearing down his façade, she saw it and couldn't bear to let him leave that way. It was silly to think she felt the same way about him after all this time. To even consider her affections regarding the man were still there. He was gone for two years and she moved on. She moved on with Tom.

A small breath was made, one coming out raggedly and almost a bit too loud. "I'll be right back. I have to go do something," she muttered, quickly leaving the floor without giving her boyfriend time to comprehend what she had said. In spite of her promised return, Molly was unsure if she'd even get the chance to catch up to him.

When she left the song was drowned out as soon as the door was closed. The night air hit her skin, sending a shiver up her spine, perhaps grabbing her jacket would have been a smart idea. He wasn't far, but a good distance was between them. His movements paused, in which she could only assume he was using his phone, maybe leaving John a message about his departure. Regardless, it gave her time to reach him.

"Sherlock," Molly lightly called out, causing the man to turn his head. His eyes were showing confusion, but he quickly replaced the puzzlement with a raised brow. Her orbs flickered down for a second before she could find her voice. "You're going already? I thought you'd stay for the rest of the party."

"Social events aren't really my thing," he stated with a withdrawn tone. "Besides, shouldn't you be inside with…" He paused, attempting to recall the male's name. It always seemed to slip from his mind. His chin tilted down as it finally came to him. "Tom?"

She could find no jealously hidden within his question and caught herself feeling somewhat disappointed, as if she needed it one way or another to make disappearing hold some significance. But no such connotation existed. "I don't plan on being gone long. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you? And don't just say you are because-"

"You can see." His speech was held in a whisper; however, he quickly cleared his throat. "I just needed to take a walk, that's all. I don't really understand the reason for over-celebrating. It would be so much simpler if one is wed the moment the papers are signed, the whole ceremony seems rather pointless." He glanced down at her, remembering she was betrothed. "Of course, if you like that sort of thing it's… fine."

Molly held back a grin. His views were excessively straightforward and he never was a romantic, she expected no less of an answer. "If all you're doing is walking, do you mind if I join you?" What possessed her to ask, she wasn't quite sure.

He took a few second to reply, as if searching for a response. He turned his collar up and fixed his scarf. "I see no problem having some company if you really feel compelled to come along." His gaze was fixated beyond her, as if the building they just left held more of his attention.

Without having to say anything, Molly starts strolling next to him. Being with him like this, even if it mainly consisted of silence, was nice. Those years without him were exceedingly boring. No one was there to ask her to bring out a corpse, to help with strange experiments, or to insist she should stop dating altogether. Strangely enough she missed his ill-mannered remarks. Unbeknownst to the young woman, her lips tugged upward at the memories.

"You're smiling," the detective purely stated. "Either because you're remembering something amusing or you're happy because of the morale a wedding naturally creates**.**" His pace was steady, yet slow since there was no reason to rush. "Both could be accurate considering the events of today. So, which one is it?"

"To tell you the truth, I've missed this, spending time with you." She glanced up, catching the slight furrow of his forehead and quickly tried to change her sentence. "I mean having you here… because we didn't ever do things like this, you and I. You're always busy and only came to Bart's if you needed to see a body, not really to see me. Sorry, I what I meant to say was, not that you don't want to see me, you merely had other more important things to do." Forcing mouth to stay shut; her eyes closed while she repeatedly chastised herself for her silly ramble.

Sherlock's lips parted for an instant, but he said nothing for a while. Within the midst of her nervousness, she fiddled with her ring. Her action was caught by his calculating eyes. From observation, he knew what that meant. Rather than twisting it, she shifted it up and down. Generally that suggested, when with another person, they are attracted to them. It showed the desire not just to ignore the bond of upcoming marriage, but to break it off.

It's clear to him that Molly's feelings are still present, regardless of how much Tom mattered to her. In fact, he noticed her doing the same thing during his speech. However, he wouldn't bring it up. Instead of commenting on his surveillance or her jumble of words, he made a remark about her clothing.

"That dress, you bought it three weeks ago," he uttered without giving an explanation on how he knew. "You could have just worn it because it was appropriate for a wedding but there's more to it than that. You bought it because what the color represents, it had nothing to do with the style. Yellow is creative from a mental aspect, the color of new ideas. It represents a practical thinker, not a dreamer-"

He cuts himself short, recalling what happened at the Christmas party. His deduction on her gift embarrassed her, rightfully of course since he was a bit rash, and he didn't want to cause her any humiliation this time. He understood a bit better now, at least when it came to Molly, when he should or shouldn't go off analyzing her.

"You can keep going, I don't mind. I'm actually quite fond of the color." The same event was recalled, but she dismissed it. These remarks weren't horrible, nothing like that night. Maybe it was his way of complimenting? It was doubtful since he didn't seem to be the type, but she'd prefer to think it meant something even if he was simply going off on a random topic like he normally would.

He gave an odd sort of nod and tucked his hands into his pockets. "It represents someone who loves a challenge, particularly a mental challenge. It is related to the ego and our sense of self-worth, how we feel about ourselves and how we are perceived by others. Yellow is the scientist, constantly analyzing, looking at both sides before making a decision; methodical and decisive. It suits you rather well."

"I didn't know you were an expert on that too," Molly told him. "Is it something you have stored away in your… what was it John said you called it? Oh, yes, your mind palace." She couldn't suppress her interest when it came to his vast knowledge; it was something about him she always revered.

"Don't tell me you read John's trivial scribbles on his blog? He obviously didn't spend the last two years working on his writing technique," Sherlock mentioned, turning his head to the side with a slight roll.

Catching a glimpse of his profile, she faced downward, letting her brown eyes surfacing the ground. "People actually like reading about the cases you've been on. The two of you are brilliant together. It's really not surprising others want to see what you've been up to."

"They can just as easily find a newspaper," he stated, waving his hand about in a flicking sort of manner. "Although, what they go on about is quite bias, ridiculous, boring, and reading anything a reporter says is basically a waste of time. They always say they're about getting the facts but we all know that's the furthest thing from the truth. It's all about the money, it always is when a job consists of being in the right place at the right time and there's the competition factor as well."

"I'm guessing you're not a big fan of the press then." She shruged a bit, recalling some of the articles she skimmed though while he was presumed dead. "When you were away, they printed the most awful things about you. That you were fake and other nonsense such as that, but that's what you wanted, right? For everyone to believe those stories?"

"It was essential for the plan. I couldn't exactly have other's catching on, not that anyone could. Some of the theories I've heard were absurd, others were impossible to even consider." He expected speculation, but he never thought people, especially Anderson, to form a group. "I was keeping busy though, so it's not a total loss in my opinion."

Managing to keep her pace steady with his, she dipped her head down. "You can't really say what you were doing, can you?" Molly was certain he couldn't, but figured it couldn't hurt to ask.

"If I did Mycroft would make a big fuss about it. Always did. It's such an annoying habit." Sherlock shook his head a bit after mentioning the eldest of the two. They seemed to have a mutual feeling of trust and equal frustration towards the others actions.

She couldn't help but smile a tad again. Sometimes he didn't realize how lucky he was to have people like that in his life. She definitely wouldn't take things like that for granted. "You know it's only because he cares about you. You're his brother after all."

"Yes, yes, family and sentiments," Sherlock replied, brushing off her comment. "He's always coming around during the worst times, not to mention the fact that he thinks he's smarter than me, which he tends to mention every so often."

"It must be nice though. I don't have any brothers or sisters. I guess you'd say I had a pretty lonely childhood." A small sigh escaped and she quickly realized what she was doing. Sherlock wouldn't be interested in knowing about how her life used to be. He had better things to do than listen to her go on and on. "I'm not exactly sure why I'm telling you these things. You probably don't want to hear about them."

"It's been my experience to let others say what they need to, whether I care or not shouldn't be equated. Friends listen to one another, do they not?" His faced angled towards her. His brows were raised in an inquisitive way as if expecting an answer, but he was only met with a look of uncertainty. In all likelihood it was due to what he said.

One part of his reply could be considered a little rude but she was more concerned on what he just addressed her as. "I thought John was your only friend." At least that's what she heard.

"He's my best friend… evidently," Sherlock started to explain. He told Molly she counted, that he always trusted her, wasn't that enough to make her realize she mattered to him in more than in an acquaintance sort of way? "I'm pretty sure you can have a number of friends, although I don't see the point in having many. My contacts don't generally exceed my homeless network." He paused, turning to face her completely. "Why do you look so surprised?"

The brunette felt her cheeks starting to flush a pink color. She hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice since the darkness should obscure his view of her expression, in spite of that she looked the other way for a moment, attempting to hide the blush and not fumbled too badly on her words. "I just thought that… never mind. It doesn't really matter."

His lips pressed together for a second as he folded his hands behind back. "Oh, come on, Molly. You can say whatever it is you want. It's just us two out here." They were pretty much alone, a few cars and cabs passed by, but other than that no one else could be seen strolling down the sidewalk like they were. Come to think of it, he didn't even have much of a destination in mind once she joined.

"Well, regardless of what you said before you asked for my help with Moriarty, which I really do appreciate, I just didn't think you saw me as anything more." At least not in the way she wanted him to. "You still called me John when we were working on that case together and like I've already mentioned, you only come by Bart's when you need something, not that I expect you to want to hang out and do things with me."

"Dinner," he quickly remarked as if he just remember something. His focus was kept straight ahead, only to glimpse over at when she became silent. Clearly, he had confused her with his sudden disruption.

Her mouth went dry for a moment. "Excuse me?" Molly's gaze quickly flickered up and down, trying to make sense of what was said. She couldn't exactly jump to any conclusion, surely he'd set things straight with his next sentence.

"You mentioned dinner when I asked you to come over." A finger was placed on his mouth and he tapped there about three times before letting his hands come back together. "I suppose that's what ordinary people do when extending a form of thanks. Apparently, I'm the only one who thinks solving a case is more worthy. It's certainly more thrilling than the mild chatter one has when sitting across from one another."

She couldn't help but laugh a little. His ideas greatly differed from hers but she liked that about him. Something was always new and exciting when Sherlock Holmes was involved. "I was happy to help you out, but you really didn't have to thank me for what I did. Anyone would do the same."

Molly brushed her hands over her bare arms again, attempting to warm herself. She didn't even notice Sherlock slip off his coat until it was over her shoulders. He didn't say anything or make eye contact when the action was made, he simply went on talking. Her cheeks heated up a bit more as soon as the warmth and his scent flooded her system. How typical of him to do something completely abnormal and still appear as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Knowing him, it didn't mean anything other than a kind gesture on his part. She couldn't let herself think otherwise. He simply saw she was cold and let her use his jacket, it was as unpretentious as that and yet she wanted it to mean so much more.

"You're being too modest. You and I both know you're the only one who could have pulled something like that off." Sherlock momentarily paused to readjust his scarf, fixing it so it lay in place even without his trademark piece of clothing on. "I can't do everything on my own, sometimes I need help."

"You have John for that," the brunette told him. The two of them kept in contact while Sherlock was gone, but it wasn't very often that they'd see on another. He was with Mary most of the time and she was keeping herself occupied at the morgue. "Is he still going to be working cases with you? I would assume so, but he has a wife now and another job, although I heard he doesn't like it very much."

"You know him almost as well as I do, of course he'll come back. He misses the danger." Confidence was held in his reply, yet he knew he'd be seeing less of the man from this point on, which didn't settle right with him. "I don't expect him to work on every task I take, I can handle them just fine on my own. He has Mary to think about and other things to do. I might end up asking you again though."

"You know I wouldn't decline unless I was busy," Molly mentioned, turning her head to the side more. Chasing criminals and solving mysteries wasn't her thing, but being around him made her want to accept right away. "Since Tom and I are getting married in a few months…" She let her sentence drift, recognizing how soon the date was approaching.

What if she was making a mistake? She cared about Tom, she loved him but when Sherlock was near the feelings she received were very different, so much deeper. But it was purely one sided. Her affection and admiration towards him meant nothing if he didn't return them. It didn't even matter how many times she told people or even herself she moved on. As soon as he came back she realized there was no way she'd ever be over him. The consciousness of that stalled her feet.

A step was taken ahead of her before he noticed a break in motion. Sherlock inclined towards her, narrowing his orbs the slightest amount. Her actions exposed more than she was willing to say. "Something's obviously bothering you. Not only did you stop walking but you're staring off in the same direction for an unusual amount of time."

The sound of his deep tone brought her back. Her mouth opened and closed, the process repeated until she was able to find her voice again, only to ask him a fairly random question. "What do you think of Tom? Normally as soon as you meet the guys I was dating, you'd somewhat ridicule them right away, but you didn't do that this time. In fact I can't recall you saying much about him at all."

"I thought you didn't like me doing that? Besides, that was never my intention." Why would she suddenly ask? She has been with him for over a year now and Sherlock was sure whatever he said wouldn't change her mind about marrying the man. She deserved to be happy and if Tom was the right one for her, who was he to question her choice?

She bit down on her lip for a moment. "I don't want you to deduce him, I just want your opinion." Her hand automatically went to the jewel on her small finger again as she awaited his reply. Suddenly the ring slipped from her digit and could be heard hitting the pavement before he can answer. "My ring," she said slightly alarmed, afraid she could have damaged it.

Sherlock knelt down and picked it up, examining it for a moment prior to handing it back to her. "You don't care for it much anyways," he told her matter-of-factly, causing Molly to look at him. "You didn't want an expensive one and you tried to talk him out of buying it. You simply wear it for traditions sake, since you aren't and never have been fond of jewelry."

She shook her head a tad. "I guess there's no point in asking how you know that." She placed the ring back on and looked at it for a moment, aware he wasn't going to answer her question. Everything he said was right though, if only he could understand how she feels about him as well as he can read others. For as long as she knew him, he never showed interest in being romantically involved with anyone. A light sigh escaped soon after.

They started walking again, but this time he started traveling in the direction they came from. "Speaking of Tom, I probably kept you away from him long enough. He'll start wondering where you are if you don't return soon. Not to mention the fact that my phone has been buzzing for the last ten minutes, probably John or Mrs. Hudson."

When they were close enough to see the building again, Sherlock stopped a good few feet from the door. "You're not coming back inside, are you?" Molly asked, tilting her head about a fraction in his direction. She already knew he wasn't, seeing as he intended on leaving in the first place.

"No, I'm heading back to Baker Street. I have some things to do and apparently some texts to get back to." A brief pause was made when he looked at the structure then back to her. "Although I appall the idea of going to another," he mentioned with a slight drag on his words, but within his next sentence the ambience around them settled when he spoke in a much softer tone. "You'll have to save me a dance at your wedding."

Almost having to force her lips upward, she nodded. All she wanted to do was tell him right here and now how much she cared for him, how much he mattered, but her voice was caught in her throat. It wasn't right to say something like that; especially when she was engaged to someone and Sherlock clearly didn't see her as anything more than what he mentioned previously.

"Your coat," she quickly stated, almost forgetting she still had it on. The brunette tugged it off and passed the jacket over to him. He put it on and brought the collar up and turned to leave. "Oh, and Sherlock." He halted and glanced at the young woman. "Just because John's married doesn't mean anything's going to change, completely anyway. He might not be around as often, but you'll always be friends."

It seemed like she knew what was bothering him from the start. Perhaps she was able to read him more than he gave her credit for. Without saying the words he smiled his thanks. "I'll probably be stopping by Bart's tomorrow around ten. New case I'm working on," he simply told her before going.

Molly leaned against the door, watching him for a few seconds. In spite of her want to stay with him, she returned to the party. She couldn't stop herself from wondering if she could even bring herself to go through with the ceremony. Within a few second of entering, Molly nearly banged into someone. "Tom?" she questioned after getting a look at the man.

"I was just about to start looking for you," he told her. Taking a glimpse out of the window, he saw the famous detective walking away. He glanced back at his girlfriend with a fading smile. "You were with Sherlock?"

"We were only talking." Her reply came out meekly. She wasn't lying; all they did was discuss a few things; however she could sense something about Tom was off. The way he spoke was different than normal. "Is something wrong?"

There was a moment of silence between them where he shifted his gaze to the floor. He heard about her crush on him and thought it was gone, but after knowing they were together, he wasn't sure anymore. He didn't want to hold any mistrust, but there was something so apparently there between the two, even if it solely fell on Molly, and the clarity formed within her departure. He felt almost stupid realizing he was blind to from the very start. "That depends. What exactly does he mean to you?"

Molly felt a slight wave of tension between them and maybe a bit of jealousy underlining his tone. "Can we talk about this at home?" She couldn't get herself to actually answer the question, at least not honestly. She watched him give a stiff nod before leaving her side. With a sigh she caught up with him, getting the feeling a longer conversation concerning Sherlock was underway.

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><p><strong>That ended up being longer than I expected. Please review and let me know if I should continue or not. I pretty much know what I'm doing, but feedback is always welcomed.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. I really didn't expect to get as many as I did. I would have got this chapter out sooner but I had to work on Saturday, which took up a lot of my typing time. Either way, I hope you enjoy.**

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><p>A light rain showered the streets of London in the late morning. The icy droplets of water immediately started soaking Molly the second she left home. An umbrella was opened as she walked towards the street. She raised her arm up to catch a cab, which only took a moment to pull up. Seeing as she was running late and in no mood to talk, she didn't engross herself in conversation with the driver like she normally would; she merely told him her destination and reclined into the seat.<p>

A few minutes passed and Bart's was in sight. The man was paid and the doctor quickly hurried inside, not bothering to open her umbrella a second time. Once within the walls of the locker room, after successfully avoiding getting stopped by any co-workers, she dried off a little, pulled her hair back, and placed her white lab coat on before getting to work.

Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, causing the building to feel empty despite the many people inside. She opened the door to the lab spotting Sherlock looking into a microscope. He didn't bother glancing up; he never really did when he was focused. Molly took a few paces inward. She was about to ask if he needed any help but he spoke before she could.

"You're usually here earlier," Sherlock simply stated. He turned the coarse adjustment knob and scribbled down a few notes. His hues continued to stay fixated on whatever he was examining, somewhat disregarding anything else around him.

She came a bit closer, taking a peek at what he wrote. His logs were messily written but understandable enough to read. "I overslept, that's all," she finally told him. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Testing blood samples." A small huff was made and a few incoherent words escaped past his lips. Molly could only pick up a few pieces about bacteria being found within the sample and something concerning John. "Lestrade said the client wouldn't take what I told them seriously until I proved my 'hypothesis.' Waste of time really, I already know what the results will be."

The slight arrogance lining his tone never ceased to surprise her. A pair of gloves was pulled over her hands while giving her reply. "A bit smug, are you?" she questioned, turning to watch him for a second, only to twist the other way soon after. She constantly caught herself glimpsing over at him and despite being absorbed in something else, he surely felt her stare.

"I don't remember leading anyone to believe I wasn't," Sherlock told her a bit briskly. His movements were paused, picking up on the strain in her tone and the small sniffle sound she made. He angled his head towards her, observing a few things. "You're tired but you didn't oversleep." Standing up straight, his brows furrowed. "…You were crying."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. It didn't matter if she denied it. Of course he'd pick up on the lie the moment he looked at her, just when she thought she could avoid any questions too. Still, she had to ask. "What makes you say that?"

A breath was taken and his hands came together. "Your pupils are dilated, which is caused by lack of sleep, but there are no bags under eyes. However, they are red, yet there's no purple tint signifying exhaustion. Your nose is slightly pink and although being out in the cold does that, your cheeks aren't in the same state. I can also mention how the condition of your clothing further shows that you woke up on time and not late, but I don't think I need to prove my point any further, unless you want me to. I could go on."

"No, you can stop." Molly turned from him and rubbed her eyes another time. She felt silly for shedding tears in the first place and she didn't want to again when Sherlock was in the room.

The detective pulled back from what he was doing and approached her, making sure to leave some space. His hands rounded behind him as his head tilted to the side. He really wasn't used to talking about feelings and such, which showed, but he supposed he should try regardless. "I usually wouldn't ask, seeing as you tend to keep to yourself on certain matters." He left it there, somehow letting her know she could continue if she wanted to.

"Tom and I had an argument, a few actually, last night for a while and then this morning." Molly looked up at him, but quickly found her gaze directed anywhere he wasn't. He was close, making her breathing stall for a second. "It's no big deal, I'm sure we'll be fine." Tom wasn't a confrontationist; he was far from it. However, he became somewhat distant as they fought, causing it to simmer down rather than be resolved.

She was avoiding eye contact, shifting her eyes so they didn't redirect back towards him. It was something she did often, however the reason this time was different. He could pick up on a few whys and wherefores, some more plausible then others, yet he kept them to himself.

"You never mentioned having a dispute before and there's been no previous indication, so if I'm assuming correctly, which I probably am, it has something to do with yesterday." At the mere mention caused her orbs to flicker up, leading him to believe he was on the right course. "Nothing was off during the wedding, or the beginning of the reception, so that leaves a small timeframe."

"I'd actually prefer not talking about it," Molly suddenly told him. However, knowing who he was, she knew he'd figure it out soon, so there was no point in trying to keep it a secret, nor could she find motivation to. "It's nothing serious. Tom he… he was just a little jealous and started questioning our relationship." She wouldn't mention certain parts though; she considered it private after all.

"Jealous?" His head leaned to the side, taking in the concept. That's what he supposed it was, but the question of why still lingered. The feeling was caused by insecurity. It's a negative, regressive state of mind and very different from envy. She was sitting rather close to Lestrade while he was making his speech, but they were fine at that point. That really only left one more person that could be the cause. "Because I was with you?"

It was extremely obvious how much Tom resembled Sherlock. Their appearance is close and they even dressed in similar attire. Molly knew all those things and yet she insisted with herself that those were all coincidences. Regardless, he probably picked up on the fact the moment they met.

"It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have left." She didn't regret it though. Sherlock clearly wasn't alright last night and if talking to him helped even the slightest, she was okay with how things were. "He's normally not like that; it was a bit odd actually."

"It's not like he needs to worry, we're friends," he mentioned offhandedly, waving off the notion. "You've been together for a while, met his parents, and adopted a dog. This correlation certainly exceeded your others."

"Are you saying I can't hold a relationship?" she asked, perhaps a tad too defensively. Although, he was right, neither of them lasted very long and she was the one who ended the majority of them. Molly couldn't exactly bring herself to commit to someone when Sherlock was around, not when she wanted to be with him more than anyone else. If she were being honest, it was the same now.

He paused, attempting to word his sentence better. "…No, not at all. I just meant sometimes it takes a while to find the right person. John dated many girls before he found Mary." Offering advice was another thing he rarely did, but there was no harm in trying. "If Tom is the one you want to be with talk things through, I'm sure you'll get past your problems. At least, I hear that works. I can't say for sure."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spring all of this on you." Molly took a few paces from him and leaned against the counter the opposite from him. She took a moment to bring her hair over to one shoulder. "You probably already know I have a cat without me having to tell you, but ever since we got that dog, he ran away multiple times. I just got him back last week. I'm afraid I won't be able to find him the next time."

He quickly realized how the topic of discussion was segued to something else related but entirely different at the same time. "Regarding the first thing you said, you didn't. Nonetheless, I can't say I'm very helpful. And secondly, the fact that he keeps running off could be because you moved, the dog might not be the initial problem. Just a theory."

He couldn't figure out why what he said caused her to smile, nevertheless her grin triggered his lips to pull up as well, if only for a brief interval. Her company was nice to have, it always was, yet if felt somewhat different than before. It was unusual for him to do, however, Sherlock let his eyes linger on her, not for an extensive amount of time, but longer than he normally felt he should.

His aquamarine orbs caught the small amount of movement she made during the few seconds of silence passing between them. Her fingers slipped slowly through her light brown hair as she seemed to be lost in a thought. Even the way she pressed her lips together held his attention. His mind didn't go off analyzing her actions and the compulsion to speak wasn't there.

His muscles stiffen as he felt somewhat exposed, like he couldn't hide a thing from her. Considering how quick she was to figure out what was bothering him last night, when he denied it after giving himself other possible explanations, made it seem like concealing anything from her was impossible. Because unlike everyone else, perhaps John could also be counted as well, Molly could see past the emotionless and detached front he put on.

She didn't give any impression of noticing his gaze. A finger was brought to her mouth and pressed there for a second. He found the stillness in the room to be worth conserving at yet at the same instance wished to break the sustained quiet between them. When Sherlock finally directed his eyes away, she turned to him a moment later, opening her mouth to talk.

"No use in standing around all day," the brunette suddenly said, struggling to find reason to get her mind off of her problems. "Can I help you with something? I don't have anything I need to do right away." Technically, that wasn't completely true, but it was purely habitual to put whatever he was doing first.

The blood samples, how could he forget about them so carelessly? Looking straight ahead, he nodded and as usual, kept an epitome of composure. "I'm almost finished, you could write some things down for me. It would be easier than having to stop." The microscope was approached once again and he looked through the eyepiece, shifting his concentration to his work.

Molly wrote down whatever he told her to and within an hour he was heading out the door to meet up with Greg. A subtle sigh fled from her lips as soon as the door shut. Without him in the room a calming breath could be taken. As soon as she returned home, she'd have to face Tom again. Whether she should take Sherlock's suggestion about trying to work things through was questionable. But she knew breaking things off for someone who wouldn't return her feelings was pointless.

Even though that fact never stopped her in the past, Molly supposed she would just have to see how their conversation went and deal with whatever the outcome was. Forcing herself to move, she went back to work.

* * *

><p>"Is this enough to convince you that man is guilty?" Sherlock questioned, with a slight roll of his eyes. He stood in Lestrade's office holding slight chagrin for having to further prove his point. "I really thought my word would be enough by now. I'm hardly wrong when it comes to these things, but you know that was well as I do. Of course, that's why you call me in the first place."<p>

Greg rested a finger against his temple as he examined the results of the detective's finding. "It wasn't me who needed the proof. You came back from the dead. Some people don't even believe you're really Sherlock Holmes, too many conspiracy theories in my opinion." The papers were placed down before he set upright in his chair.

"I already explained myself, saying anything further is unnecessary." He glanced around the room, showing no interest in the conversation, which was picked up on rather quickly, not that he really cared much for the notice.

"Either way, I'll let Donovan know so we can wrap up this case," Greg told him. "Didn't take you more than two days to figure this one out, even with the wedding yesterday. I would have thought you'd put it aside with all the commotion, but I should have known better. During the reception you were also trying to figure something out, right? You don't randomly say 'murder' without a reason."

"Surprised you picked up on that much, although your whole dwarf concept was ridiculous and implausible." Sherlock turned his attention to the man after taking a few steps. "I could have finished it sooner without the distractions though."

Lestrade nodded, shifting a few documents on his desk. "For this one, I would have said the brother killed her. He had every reason to get revenge, he had no alibi, and even had the weapon on him, but her fiancé was defensive during questioning. He became one of our main suspects, although we couldn't have proved it without you."

"And I suppose you figured that out all on your own? Brilliant deduction," he mentioned, clasping his hands together, if almost praising the man. A small smile came to his face as well, adding lightness to his words.

Lestrade's face showed confusion, clear by the furrow of his brows and sideway turn of his head. Sherlock complimented people, but it was rare and mostly made in a backhanded sort of way. "Really, because-"

"No, now stop talking." His lips fell down and a more serious disposition took over, holding an inquisitive manner to his expression. "Naturally, you missed the most important part. It was his hands, you completely disregarded his hands. They were dry, callused to be more specific and you didn't notice the cut, therefore didn't consider the bacteria in his bloodstream, the same kind found on the victim. Child's play."

"Not everyone observes like you," he remarked, some traces of sarcasm found in his tone. Despite the comment, his fingers came together just before a question he's wanted to ask came out. "Now that John's gone, well married to be exact, are you going to be looking for another person to assist you? You brought Molly along a few weeks ago."

"I don't need to, it's not like he's going to stop working on cases completely." He had to wonder why people were even asking. He didn't see a reason to bother with the subject. "Why do you care anyway?"

Lestrade made a small shrug. He was used to John accompanying the detective; it was a bit strange seeing one without the other, even after the passing two years. "I for one don't want you walking around with that skull again. It was downright creepy. And it pretty much scared people away. I'm kind of glad you got rid of it."

"Yes, because your opinion matters so much to me," Sherlock expressed, turning his head to the left. Getting ready to head out again, he gave a short nod towards the man. "If I'm not needed anymore, I have more important things to do. Call if you have another case for me."

"As of right now we have nothing, could be a while before we get another sent to this division," Greg told him just as he sat back down and reached for the phone. He was surprised to see him angle back with an almost annoyed look taking over.

"I guess I'll have to find something to do on my own then. If I don't answer my phone, assume I'm busy and don't try calling again. Unless it's something exciting, like a good murder, those are always fun." He started leaving again, only to turn around another time at the sound of his voice.

"How exactly is finding a killer _fun_?" Lestrade asked with emphasis on the word. At first he gingerly allowed Sherlock to work with his team, now he was the one asking for help. His ideals on entertainment were debatable, but he never really took the time to ask why he considered such things enjoyable. At any rate, his mind held vast knowledge and his ability to deduce was admired, making him the man for any difficult task.

"Because it's… You wouldn't understand. Your brain couldn't follow what I mean. I don't know why I bother trying to explain." He saw his brow crease as if he was attempting to comprehend what was said. "And stop thinking, it's annoying." This time he actually left the room. He, of course, considered Greg a friend and ally, in spite of the fact that he couldn't remember his first name for the life of him.

Knowing the job was finished, he didn't need to be there to witness the man's arrest. Sherlock took a cab back to Baker Street, planning on spending the rest of the day, seeing as it would be dark in the matter of hours, at his flat. He could get by working on a few experiments or talking to clients if any happened to stop by.

* * *

><p>Molly came home not knowing what to expect. When she opened the door it was silent. She almost thought Tom hadn't come back yet, until the dog started barking that is. He came over and quieted their pet down without greeting her, just as Toby was spotted scurrying across the floor, running somewhere safe. The feline was always hiding, if not he was trying to escape.<p>

A sigh fell from her lips, expecting at least a hello. The brunette entered the main room, waiting for Tom to come in, which only took a few minutes. She sat on the couch and folded her fingers together. Her boyfriend stood for a second before taking a seat as well. His gaze was towards the floor and she knew that meant he was attempting to find the right words to say. She decided it was best to let him talk first.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he said rather slowly. He had spent most of the day, if not all of it, reflecting on what happened. Why he suddenly felt doubt and perhaps even suspect something was going on. Tom didn't want to jump to any conclusions or make her feel like he was interrogating her, but he was lost on what the right option was.

"So have I," she mentioned soon after. Her mind was plagued with thoughts about her conversation with Sherlock and the fighting that occurred before. "Can we talk about this without arguing this time?"

"You never answered my question, last night or this morning. When I asked what he meant to you, but I guess I don't need it." His eyes darted upward to see her facial expression. It was mixed between confusion and worry. "Why didn't you just tell me you still had feelings for him?"

"I-I don't." The brunette knew that was a lie as much as she did. "I said yes to you. Why are you suddenly questioning me about this?" Her tone was meek, feebler than she wanted it to be. The atmosphere was daunting in the room. It was like a heavy sense of unease abruptly swept over them. She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to push down the feeling along with it.

"Molly, just be honest with me." His voice was held in lighter caliber, almost like he couldn't quarrel anymore. "I don't need to be a detective to figure it out. It's the way you look at him and talk about him. I should have realized it sooner. Maybe I was just too blind to see it, but I do now, very clearly."

The doctor bit back on her lip, taking a deep breath in the process. This was not how she imagined things turning out; it was supposed to be different with him. They met through friends, not because of work. He was a normal person, with a typical job, and they did all the things couples do, such as going out to dinner, taking walks, just enjoying being in each other's company.

"What do you want me to say, Tom?" she almost asked in a desperate tone. "I'm happy being with you." Was she? Could she really say those words and mean them? Seeing the doubt muddled in his eyes and small amount of sadness coming through caused her heart to sink.

Tom stood from his chair and sat on the sofa next to her. He couldn't bring himself to look at her for more than a few seconds at a time until he started speaking again, which took a while. "I believe for those two years you were happy with me, that before Sherlock came back and possibly a little while after, you wanted this." Tom took hold of her hands, shaking his head in the process.

"Are you saying you don't want this anymore? We were together for a long time and…" Molly's sentence trailed off. She still remembered the day he proposed. He took her where they first met; it was a bit romantic in her eyes. Blinking back tears, she shifted in her seat and lightly grasped his fingers. A slight fear of losing him and the life they shared was a lot to handle.

The quietness contained any amount of anger he might have had. It would be easy to lash out, but it wasn't in him to do that. Even during the previous arguments, he kept a cool demeanor, which wasn't exactly easy. "Sherlock isn't the only problem, I think we are too."

Molly tilted her head to the side, showing signs of misunderstanding. She could feel the tension weighing down on them and it caused her to tense, almost not wanting to ask the question burning on her tongue. "What do you mean?"

"I guess seeing you with him last night just made me realize a few things." He paused, glancing over to catch the puzzlement leaving her face, only to be replaced by a frown. Clearing his throat some, he kept his focus on their interlocked hands. "I can't help being jealous of seeing you with Sherlock, just like you couldn't prevent feeling the same way when you saw him with Janine. No matter how much you lie to yourself, I know you're not over him."

By the looks of it, he wasn't sure if she'd ever move on. He couldn't say whether the consulting detective was interested in her, having only spoken a few times, regardless of what the correct answer was Tom couldn't keep holding onto something that wasn't there.

Her mouth was too dry to respond right away. There weren't many things she could say at this point. Molly knew he was being honest with her and it was painful seeing him endure this kind of conversation. When sound finally came out, she could only mutter a few words. "I do love you."

"I know, just not enough, right?" Tom inquired, with a dejected undertone dragging down his voice. "I fit what you think a marriage should be. You wanted a practical, steady relationship, so much you kept telling yourself you were happy, that you were willing to marry the wrong guy. Just to prove you could have that perfect image of what a husband and wife should be and to show everyone you were over him. I might be wrong, but I don't think I am. That's not enough for me and is shouldn't be for you either."

She drew her hand away and covered her mouth, afraid to cry again. He was right and she felt horrible for deceiving him, even if it was unconsciously done. Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do. "Where exactly does this leave us? Ending our engagement a few months before the ceremony is supposed to happen? I know I haven't been fair to you and you deserve better, but I-"

Tom gently silenced her. "The truth is you're attracted to the danger, to people like Sherlock Holmes. If can't give you what you want, tell me. It's not fair to me, to him, or yourself." A breath was taken, seeing as his next words were difficult to get out. "In the end you have to choose. Either let him go or we end things right now, because I can't be with you knowing you're in love with someone else."

Molly became quiet. He was making her pick between him and Sherlock? Why did everything always have to turn out this way? The brunette looked down at her ring and back at him. Deep down, she already knew the answer.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't know much about Tom, no one really does, but since they were going to get married, I feel like their conversation should hold some kind of meaning. When it comes to Sherlock and Molly, I'm trying to develop things slowly between them so their relationship won't happen right away. I will try to get my next chapter out as soon as possible. Until then, please leave a review.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**I can't believe I have so many people following my story after two chapters. I'm still trying to figure out a few things for my next chapter, but I'm hoping it will be up soon.**

* * *

><p>Molly took a moment to gather her thoughts. Tom was asking her to pick between him and Sherlock. One would mean she continued with her proceeding wedding, while the other involved breaking it off and ending things with her boyfriend completely. Her mind told her to be logical and choose the man who loved her and wanted to be together, but her heart opposed it.<p>

The detective wasn't the type of guy who wanted a relationship, nor could she imagine him being in one, yet her feelings for him were still present and holding onto hope that he might someday be interested. In all likelihood, he already knew how she felt and said nothing about it, making it seem silly to pursue someone who held no attraction towards her.

On the other hand, Tom wanted to be with her, expressed his care and devotion. The brunette couldn't blame him for being jealous or even asking her to pick at this very moment. It wasn't fair to marry him without giving up on all other romantic attachments. He may have a similar appearance to Sherlock, but he was so different. He was safe and warm while Sherlock took leaps of danger and the majority of the time held a cold persona, but she knew he could be the show both attributes Tom held.

If she followed her heart could she bring herself to do anything? Was there a reason to break things off between herself and Tom if Sherlock rejected her like she assumed he would? In the end, keeping a relationship with someone she didn't truly love was wrong. It would be like settling just because you couldn't have what you really wanted and that was a horrible thing to do to anyone.

Molly took a breath, closing her eyes for a few seconds. A deep thudding could be felt within her chest just as she opened her mouth to speak. Her voice came out tenderly, almost too light to hear. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go through with this and marry you."

She watched as he gave a small nod, turning his head away in the process. The hurt was apparent in his expression and she nearly wanted to take it all back. Regardless, the ring given to her so many months ago was pulled off her finger in a slow tug. Taking Tom's hand, she placed the small object in his palm, holding onto his digits as they closed around the jewel.

His silence was unnerving. Molly bit down on her lip and fumbled with her fingers before breaking the stillness. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted me to leave. I'm the one who moved in with you, so it's only fair for me to go." She didn't know where or what places would accept cats, but staying didn't feel right if he didn't want her here.

A sigh finally came out. He held his gaze with her for a while, unable to say much to what she had said. "I'm not going to kick you out on the street," he told her. Tom couldn't bring himself to throw her out, but even he knew having her here wasn't going to be easy. "Stay until you find a place."

Somewhat taken aback by his kindness, she felt guilty all over again, which left her wondering if the feeling would ever go away. Her lips parted as her mind tried to put her thoughts in order. "Why don't you hate me? I just ended our engagement." She couldn't understand him at all; he should have held resentment and told her to leave the second she gave her reply.

"I guess I can't bring myself to detest you, even if you have feelings for someone else." He slumped forward not able to look over at her right now. "I asked you to decide, I was prepared for either answer, although I was hoping you'd choose me over Sherlock. I just want you to be happy."

"I really am sorry. I know I can't apologize enough. You were always too nice to me, even when we first met." She stopped there, wiping her eyes in the process. "As for letting me stay a while longer, thank you." Molly tried to smile, but it fell rather quickly. There was no way she could atone for her actions and unknown charade. Words of apology only got her so far and they'd never be enough either.

"If Sherlock didn't come back would you have gone through with the wedding or still break up with me?" Tom asked. In a way he needed to know the answer. Was the return of the famous detective to blame or was it something Molly thought she wanted but in the end couldn't go through with?

"Don't make me answer that," she announced somewhat heartbrokenly. Truthfully, a reply couldn't be found because she wasn't sure herself. The day Sherlock returned flashed through her mind. They spoke for a while, casual conversation of course, nothing to brag about. Molly didn't realize how much she missed him until he was standing right in front of her. She was brought back to the present when he stood. "Tom, I-"

"I need some air," he said, cutting her off. "I'll be back later." He walked out of the room and the front door could be heard as it opened and then shut. Once again it was quiet.

Molly fell back into the couch and let out a heavy sigh. Did she really just conclude one of the longest running relationships just because she was still in love with Sherlock Holmes? She didn't know what she going to tell everyone or what they'd think if they knew the reason. Molly brought her hand up and brushed it though her hair in an uneven line.

It was her decision and despite the difficulties bound to come from it, Molly knew it couldn't be any other way. The question of what she was going to do now remained. Try to tell the youngest Holmes about her feelings or simply continue leaving things the way they were, being seen as friends and nothing more. She supposed that could wait until later, when things around here reestablished themselves.

* * *

><p>"You never answered my messages," Mycroft stated, sitting across from his brother. His head stayed slanted to the side as his fingers came together. He came by a few minutes prior to Sherlock returning, letting himself in and taking a seat.<p>

"And that gave you incentive to come over?" the younger of the two asked, furrowing his brows. "I didn't feel like it." He simply waved it off while plucking the strings of his violin. His sibling's appearance was expected, although not fully wanted. However, they both knew he would have continued ignoring him no matter how many times his phone rang. His actions were paused for a moment. "How's the diet?"

"Fine," he replied, drawing out the word. After getting that call from Sherlock at the wedding, which he knew was made from slight anxiety, it was apparent he needed something to keep himself occupied for a while. "I can see you're doing well on your own, just like before."

Sparing a withered look, he let out a breath before putting his instrument down. His position on the chair was straightened, only for a moment so he could lean forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "What are you really doing here? You're not one to stop by to have a friendly chat, not that you have any friends to talk to, but as you said, you're not lonely. Go on."

Mycroft rolled his eyes a bit at the comment, but disregarded it. There was no point getting into a disagreement over a minor remark, it made no difference to him. "As ever, I'm concerned about you, dear brother."

"You also have work for me," he told him, ignoring the fretfulness hidden under Mycroft's tone. "I'd think someone who pretty much is the British Government, or any other names you take on a freelance basis, since you _obviously_ hold many titles, wouldn't need to come to a consulting detective. But of course, I'm the only one you know who will get the job done. Rightfully, because even the people under your thumb can't get the kind of information I can."

"Minor position, Sherlock," he reminded him with some annoyance. Clearing his throat, he went back to business, taking out a folder from his jacket pocket in the process. "As it so happens, there is something I'd like you to look into."

"You know I don't necessarily have to take a case just because you want me to. I might turn you down." He went back to strumming his violin, acting indifferent towards the information and whatever papers were contained in the file. Naturally his attention was caught right away; after all he was bored without a job, even though one was just finished.

"I highly doubt that. The word murder usually keeps your interest. Before we go into that, I have a question." He pulled his hand back just before Sherlock could take the object, keeping it next to him for now.

"And I assure you, whatever it is, I won't give you an answer to your liking," Sherlock averred. Regardless, he rounded his head, waiting whatever inquiry Mycroft had. It most likely had something to do with the assignment so he might as well listen. Gesturing him to keep going, he relaxed into the seat once again.

Mycroft narrowed his gaze towards his brother. "Are you capable if solving a case without making it a big show of it? In layman's terms, can you avoid the public eye and stay out of the press?"

"They find me, not the other way around. How do you expect me to assure something like that?" An inquisitive brow was raised after the question; however, the elder's facial expression remained unchanged, triggering a small huff to fall from his lips. "But if you insist, and are so desperate, I'll make an acceptation and keep my whereabouts to myself. So, what's this case about then?"

"Certain people, and by people I mean members of higher stature, are having money siphoned from their accounts after they're killed. I simply need a name, preferably before he strikes again. This file has the rest of the information you'll need." This time he handed the documents to him, giving a slight nod in the process. Evidently, the work would be done despite his slight reluctance, hopefully using agreeable methods.

"Is that all? I was hoping for something more… exhilarating. You just want me to ID him. Are you saying I shouldn't go after him myself? Can't guarantee that," he idly mentioned while flipping through some of the papers.

"Just because you look at this like a game doesn't mean it is. Make any moves without my knowing and you'll be putting yourself against me. It may not seem like it but this man is dangerous and needs to be taken in for questioning. You cannot act on your own." Knowing full well how flippant Sherlock could be, Mycroft had to make sure he took this task for what it was, a possible dangerous job that had to be done discretely.

"Whatever you say. Oh, I'm sorry. Your tone implies I'm actually supposed to take that seriously. I'll let you know if I notice," Sherlock replied, standing in the process. "If that's all, I have other things to attend to as I'm sure you do. After all, I wouldn't want to delay your trip to the Diogenes Club. You usually head there around this time." Just as he finished speaking there was a knock on the door. It opened a few seconds later, revealing Molly as she took a step in before talking.

"I didn't know you had company," she said, moving back a bit. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure if he would be home. He didn't stop by Bart's today, not that she expected him to. "I can come back another time if right now isn't good."

"He was just leaving," Sherlock told her prior to facing Mycroft. "Weren't you, brother mine?" The file was placed on the table next to his seat before he tilted his head a fraction towards the exit. Besides, he didn't have anything else to say.

"Apparently," he remarked, taking hold of his umbrella. "Don't overdo it this time and make sure every paper in that folder is returned to me, it has confidential information that I need back as soon as possible. And if you can refrain from sharing it with anyone that would be best." He headed out of the room, giving a slight nod to Molly before heading down the stairs.

"Oh, he is good," he remarked as soon as the door was closed. He stepped onto his chair before sitting and brought his hands together, appearing to be in thought about something. "He knew I wouldn't turn something like that down. Of course, of course, it's obvious. But first I have to get my Homeless Network on the case, should be simple from that point on." He paused, remembering Molly came over. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I don't know… I mean, I just decided to stop by before going home, I guess." Her gaze fell. She didn't really didn't have a reason for coming unannounced, other than the fact that she didn't want to be in her flat right now. It's been rather silent ever since Tom came back from his walk last night and the quietness was starting to make her feel uneasy. "Where's John's chair?" she suddenly asked, noticing it was missing.

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen," he told her whilst gesturing out in front of him as if proving his point that his view was now clear without it there. He got up again and stood in front of her for a moment. "I'm guessing talking didn't go very well. Your ring is off and I'm assuming so is the wedding."

He saw the slight drop in her posture and let out a somewhat awkward breath. It was clear how upset she was and how hard she was trying not to let it show. Molly spent a long time with Tom and they shared a life together, at least for a while. She wasn't one to get overly emotional in front of others, so he didn't expect her to be very responsive after his statement.

"It's no big deal, really. Well, it is but I'll be alright. It's not like I don't know how to handle a breakup, although I never had a relationship last as long as this one." She peered up, catching his eyes. He was looking at her rather intently, causing her to shift her stance and direct her gaze somewhere else. It was something he often did while speaking to her however, this time she had a hard time giving a reply while holding it.

Sherlock was unsure of what to say. Anything dealing with dating or couples didn't exactly fall under his expertise. There were no verses of advice he could utter nor could he offer any words of solidarity. In turn, that gave her another opportunity to start talking again.

"I spend my breaks at work calling up places. It seems people don't like when you suddenly cancel. It's a good thing I didn't go out and buy a dress. I probably couldn't have got myself to return it. I don't even know how to go about telling everyone," Molly explained while pacing a few steps. Clearly a nervous habit she picked up while he was away.

As she continued, his hues flickered between her and the other side of the room, uncertain to why his eyes kept dragging themselves towards her. It happened yesterday at the hospital as well and he still found it odd. He tried not thinking too much of it, since he didn't consider the action important or that it really meant anything at all.

A roundabout route was taken to his chair. He didn't sit down, merely stood ahead of it. The way she spoke was introverted, further proving his assumption on how flustered she was on the matter. He could identify the exchanges in her actions and connect them with the issue overtaking her, but could not fully empathize with the problem or her overall anguish. This was unmistakably something one would get over after a reasonable amount of time.

Sherlock fixated his head away from her, although kept it slightly in her direction. "Are you sure you're okay with all of this? It seems you're more bothered by the whole thing than you want to say, which is, by any means, understandable."

She couldn't tell him why, the idea was preposterous to consider. Besides, she had no right springing her feelings on him so abruptly or at all. If Sherlock knew he was the reason for their break up, she had to wonder if he'd care at all. In spite of that, the fault was all her own since Tom gave her a choice. Molly sat down on the couch, needing to be off her feet. "To be completely honest, I'm not sure. It hasn't quite hit me yet. We talked for a while and it just won't work, not anymore."

The only thing that changed was his return, but he couldn't mention that. It'd certainly stir an unwanted conversation. "If that's what the two of you agreed with then I suppose there's not much else you can do." He did sit down right after her, but didn't recline as if he would jump back up any second.

"I guess not…" She wasn't very good at noticing things like he was, however, she knew, without any form of pretense that something was off about him. She recognized how important the army doctor was to him and she didn't want to alter the topic of discussion, although it seemed just about done with, from herself but he looked, to a certain extent, overtaken by his departure. "About John, I know you'll continue be solving cases together and you're still friends, but are you going to be okay without him here? You don't have to answer me, but I wouldn't think anything less of you if you told me you were going to miss having him around."

He made a small movement, indicating a slight disquiet of the mention and, as ever, answered with a statistic stating behavior "Clearly, one would miss someone who was with them constantly and feel somewhat lonely when they're not there anymore. As for me, I assure you, I'll be okay. I don't know why people are so intent on knowing how I feel."

Molly ducked down a bit and pursed her lips for a short while. She saw the way he was with John, always keeping any form of disarray off his face when next to him. Their friendship was indeed admirable. She never would have though, upon her first meeting with the detective, that he could have such a bond with someone. "I just wanted to make sure. You've been away for a while and things have changed."

"Things are always changing, it can't be helped," he mildly mentioned. The topic was discouraged to continue as he made no other comment nor did she reply with another question to keep it going.

During the slight stall, Molly glanced about the room. Facts she instinctively knew about Sherlock but never noticed began showing themselves. She was only here on a few occasions but it seemed more cluttered than before. Items were sprawled about the place in a shambolic manner, no order could be seen. A few packs of cigarettes were spotted, all empty except for one still half full.

"Are you smoking again?" the brunette asked, crinkling her nose a bit, just now picking up on the scent lingering in the air. "It's only been two days since the wedding. You have nicotine patches, don't you?"

An unmistakable amount of displeasure was etched into her features. Just like John, she didn't like habit. The drug was, nevertheless the last thing on his mind. His addiction to it was minimal at the moment despite the many he went through within a day. "I think the answer to you first question is answerable without me saying, as for the second, I have them but no, I haven't been using any."

Her fingers twisted together. She knew the dependency on them always existed yet for the most part she could recall a lack of use, on the other hand, she wasn't really around him enough to know for sure. "It's really none of my business, but can I ask why?"

"No specific reason," he vaguely replied, picking up the file Mycroft left for him. Sherlock glanced upward from the papers to see her give a few nods before quieting down once again. A pending notion to his undesired stare came to mind, for he found the transfer of his orbs were aimed on her another time. He once stated he was unaware of the beautiful, which remained true. And therefore uncomprehending of the affections she held for him.

So, in all veracity, Sherlock had an inexplicit idea of what those feelings were like. If he was ever to experience them, he'd indisputably push them aside. They did nothing to enhance his ability to work; in any case they'd probably do the opposite. He did, over the course of time, acknowledge how important Molly was and grew incredibly fond of her. Even without him realizing, she has always been there for him.

In regards to what was causing the unusual action, he deemed it as nothing, although there would continuously be a sort of nagging going on in the back of his mind about it. Distraction, he needed a distraction from the concept. The job would work; they tended to shift his focus quite easily.

A few option on starting the assignment passed through his mind, most having to do with his network as he mentioned previously. John's assistance would have been helpful, but he supposed Molly could lend him a hand, if it wasn't too much trouble. Before he could get another word out about it in a knock was heard. His attention was now placed on the visitor.

Mrs. Hudson came in the room, smiling as she noticed the woman sitting across from Sherlock. "Molly, I didn't know you were here, I hope I'm not interrupting." A shake of the head was seen before she continued. "Is everything going well? How has Tom been?"

At the question she withdrew a breath. Molly wasn't bothered by it; she just wasn't ready to say anything to anyone else about the cancelation of their engagement. It was a bit embarrassing, especially after she announced being over the consulting detective in front of the woman. "Alright, I suppose."

"They aren't together anymore, ended things last night," Sherlock specified, not bothering to look up from the papers. He didn't see Molly's sinking glance or Mrs. Hudson's look of surprise. The quietness drew his attention up to the two women. His head tilted a bit as his hands came together before addressing the brunette. "Did you want people knowing yet? They're going to find out eventually anyway, no reason prolonging it." Right after his focus was drawn to the documents another time.

Disregarding his impulsive declaration, the old woman faced Molly with a fairly sympathetic look. "My husband and I, we didn't had didn't go through any rough patches at first, it was quite the opposite but I wouldn't focus too much on that if I were you. Things might work themselves out. Are you staying with him for the time being?"

"For now, but I just feel wrong ending things like that and still living together, I'm sure it's hard for him too," she mentioned, attempting to keep a smile on her face. She knew it was difficult for Tom, he still loved her. Feelings don't just disappear overnight because the relationship was over. She felt that way as well. "I've glanced at a few newspapers, but I can't seem to find a place, at least no one that's cheap and accepts cats."

"I would offer a room to you but I don't have any extra available at the moment. You wouldn't be comfortable in the one downstairs; I could never get anyone to rent it out, drafty and such." She paused, an idea coming to mind as soon as she glimpsed at the detective. "Why don't you just stay with Sherlock until you find a more permanent place? I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

He looked up at this point, arching a brow at her proposal. The file was soon placed on the side table before he stood from his chair. "Don't you have tea going?" he abruptly reminded, taking a step forward.

"I nearly forgot. It should be finished any second now. It was nice seeing you again," Mrs. Hudson announced as she rushed off. She stopped at the door, facing the doctor. "Just let me know what you decide. I normally don't allow pets, but I would make an acceptation just this once as long as the others don't find out, can't have them bringing in animals too."

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said, shaking his head a little once she was gone. "She tends to get ahead of herself and well, she likes helping people when she's able." He wasn't looking for someone to split the rent with, but she has done so much for him in the past, helped him when he had no one else to turn to, he might as well return her kindness in a way that was favorable to her. "The offer still stands though. John isn't living here anymore and will be away on his Sex Holiday or honeymoon as everyone calls it, for another week. Since it will only be for a short while... I guess it wouldn't be a problem." He studied her for a moment, witnessing the various expressions crossing her face.

This time her voice held a note of surprise. She could read the uncertainty in his tone, knowing it had to do with his best friend's absence. "Really? I don't want to intrude or be a bother." The suggestion did sound appealing and staying with Tom wasn't doing either of them any good. Maybe taking an opportunity like this would be beneficial or it could make things even more difficult; still there was a lot to consider. "I'll think about it."

"Alright then," he replied, ending it there. Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf. "As for now, I could use some assistance if you don't mind. I have my Homeless Network station in various places and I need to get a message to a few of them. Details on the way."

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><p><strong>I feel like having Molly move in with Sherlock will get some progress in their relationship but it's not going to happen right away. Obviously, not having John around is hard for him to deal with, so I'm trying to work with that. The case Mycroft gave will be important in later chapters as well. I hope you guys are enjoying my story so far, please review and let me know what you think.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Look who finally got chapter four up. Sorry about the wait, had a bit of writers block. Hope you guys enjoy and thanks for all the people who followed my story, added it to their favorites, and left a review. **

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><p>Molly just finished delivering a note to the last member of Sherlock's Homeless Network on the list he wrote out for her. He was out doing the same except he took the routes on the other side of London, planning to come together when they were both finished. She didn't read what was written on any of the pieces of paper, but certain people had to get a specific letter.<p>

Sherlock briefly explained the task Mycroft gave him, mentioning how it will take some time locating the man they were looking for and that this was merely the first step. Despite the fact that she was hardly used to doing this sort of thing, having to be discreet and on her guard constantly, he still asked her for help. She was a bit surprised but also not at the same time. This task, if he were to do it alone, would have taken well past midnight to complete.

The brunette was on her way to their meeting place which was a block away from Bart's. She received a text a few minutes prior to her exiting the subway station, where the final member she needed to contact was, stating that he was on his way.

The sun set about an hour ago, leaving the air cold and the streets still damp from the rain shower in the afternoon. Molly kept her hands in her coat pockets as she crossed the road. Very few people were walking about, most were at home or on their way. Without the crowds and usual traffic cluttering the area, getting to her destination was a quick and simple process.

The young detective was seen the moment she turned the corner. He was on his phone and if she had to guess, he was still doing something regarding the case. She knew once he was on a task nothing else could take his focus from it. She was sure if there wasn't a small splashing sound every time a step was taken, he wouldn't have noticed her coming at all. All he did was glance over at her for a moment before looking back down.

"I'm hoping you delivered every message without a problem," Sherlock mentioned as he sustained a constant rhythm with his fingers while searching for a few things on his cell.

"It was a little difficult finding them all considering the directions you gave me, but all the notes were received," Molly told him, keeping her gaze towards the ground. "Why do you need so many people helping you out this time? I was under the impression one could get in contact with the others more subtly than we could."

"They can. Unlike other tasks I give, this one requires more than one assignment. Each member is doing the same thing but they have different person to trail." He handed her his phone, showing the brunette what he was researching. "I quickly thought up a few associates of the similar upper-class lifestyles who could be possible targets and having them trailed for a few days, three at the most."

Molly read through a few of the names, nodding as he spoke. "So, you're trying to figure out who the next victim will be not just by connection but by related traits the previous targets shared. Such as how they spend their day and who they're in contact with."

"Precisely," he replied. "Of course, I need to get more information on the others who were killed. Tomorrow I will go to all the scene of the crimes and if you could look at the bodies and see if you can find any other resemblances, for instance the way they were murdered, that would be helpful. I'll have to come by some other time to have a look myself and run some tests."

Sherlock took his phone back and placed it in his pocket. Her ability to catch on to his plan was faster than he expected, most of the time no one could figure out exactly what he was doing. He glanced at her for a moment, just before speaking, and saw how she began fidgeting with her hands. Since a ring was no longer on her finger the habit simply transferred to something else.

"I don't think I'm charge of any of their postmortems. I'll have to check the schedule for the autopsies and see what I can do. It shouldn't be a problem though." Seeing as she normally got things changed around so she could help him out, which mostly included coming in after hours, an agenda alteration was in her realm of capability.

"Good, now we just have another stop to make." He started walking again, turning the opposite way they stood. "Afterwards, I'd say we're done for the night. It's late already and I have a lot to do in the morning. The stop won't be long."

Molly caught up to him quickly and kept an even pace with him. "Where would that be?" Of course she'd go without complaint, but she still had to get up early for work and add a few more things on her list that needed to get done the next day.

"There's just one more person we need to see," Sherlock mentioned while fixing the collar of his coat. "He isn't a member of my network, but he does owe me a favor." In hindsight, there were many people who were indebted to him for various different reasons. The detective found it useful to have other connections and besides, most of their cases they presented were intriguing enough to hold his attention.

The walk was semi-longer than Molly expected, probably a few blocks from where they met up. It was quietly spent as Sherlock was in thought the majority of the time, she didn't mind though. The atmosphere was calming and the rain started picking up again, but it was more like a light mist than a shower. Darkness was descending upon the streets, causing the lampposts to flicker on.

"A coffee shop?" Molly questioned upon approaching the building. It was small, most likely family owned and from what she could see only a few customers were inside. "What exactly did you do for the guy who owns this place?"

"Saved him from going to jail for a crime he didn't commit." Sherlock opened the door entering the structure after her. "The evidence was stacked against him, nothing I couldn't sort out with a few calls and research." His eyes scanned the place until they rested on a familiar face. "I'll be right back, you can order something if you want." He left it there, heading towards the older man he was seeking.

Molly sighed a bit and sat down nonetheless, she might as well while they were here. After a few moments someone came over to ask what she wanted, to which she just requested a beverage. It only took about two minutes for the waitress to come back. Sherlock returned to her right as she was taking her first sip of the hot liquid and glanced down at the table.

"You got me coffee," the detective said after sitting across from her. He didn't plan on staying or even settling down into a seat, but he did without thinking. He held the cup for a few seconds before looking over at the brunette.

"You said you don't eat when working, and well, this isn't eating. I hope you don't mind." She knew it wasn't good for him to cut out food just because he was on a job; however, it wasn't her place to mention. "Black, two sugars just the way you like it. You've asked me to get coffee for you a lot in the past," Molly added, seeing as he arched a brow at her statement.

Nodding, he wore a fairly tight smile as the gesture was accepted. He drank some prior to setting it back on the table. "The information he gave me will help when you're doing their autopsies, certain aspects to look for and things such as that." He extended his arm to hand her the slip of paper. "Since Mycroft made it apparent to keep this assignment quiet, I can't say much to anyone…"

Sherlock's voice trailed off when his fingers brushed against hers just before she took held of the small note. She drew back rather quickly and turned away while his hand just stayed in place for a moment. His digits flinched inward as he tilted his head a fraction of an inch to the side. Oddly enough, a simple touch robbed him of speech. The contact was brief and yet it caused a bigger reaction within than he expected.

He pulled back unsure what to say or how to reconcile with what just happened. He felt somewhat stiffened by the interaction. Despite the coldness of the air they were just out in, her skin was warm and even with his vast knowledge; he couldn't quite understand the want to draw back to her touch. There was no trace of confusion on his face, but his mind was succumbed to thought about the encounter.

Something felt off about his expression and Molly tried not to let her brows furrow in thought while she wondered what had caused it. He didn't seem the type to be affected by something as small as that, not in the way she was. There were several excuses she could make, some valid, some not so much, about why he was so absorbed in what occurred but instead she gave up on the matter.

She let her heartbeat return to normal before noticing how he paused. Molly could endure the quiet when she was high-strung, but this just felt different. "I'll make sure to hold onto it," she muttered. That was the best ice breaker she can think of given the circumstances, yet he still made no reply. "What were you going to say about the case?" she asked, trying another time.

It took a second for his withdrawn look to disappear. He nodded a bit and found his voice again. "Just that my brother wants this to stay quiet, I'm sure I don't need to ask you not to say anything." Sherlock quickly took another sip from his cup, closing the space for him to talk another time.

Molly lightly bit down on her lip. He was acting reclusive; she could see it by the way he pulled back from the conversation. She wasn't naïve, something was up with him. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that John wasn't going to around as often. It could be that but it didn't quite seem like that was the cause, after all nothing was said about the army doctor.

"I don't want to keep asking you this, but are you alright? You seem a bit… distracted," she said, looking for the best word to describe his actions. Seeing the way he looked up at her, eyes blinking a few times just before he gave a reply, proved she was on to something, although she wasn't relatively sure what that particular thing was.

"I'm fine," he mentioned in a fleeting tone. "Something Mycroft mentioned is just occupying my thoughts." Keeping his head lowered, he took a second to gather himself and push aside the feelings, no matter how strange as they were to him. "He can be very temperamental when it comes to the assignments he gives me."

Again, her brows rose inquisitively when he went around the question and decided to speak about his brother but this time, she decided to leave it at that. She already said enough on the matter. "I've only met him once, it wasn't an official meeting; we spoke a bit though. He seems nice enough to me."

"That's because you don't really know him. He can be very crafty, especially when we were younger." Sherlock shook his head a bit on the notion. They got along for the most part, but snippy remarks would always follow through their conversations, on his end mostly.

"I never hear you talk about your past, your family even," she told him somewhat surprised at the mention. "Not that you have a reason to with me. We're friends, but not that close I suppose." All they ever really did together were things within the morgue, nothing that felt like it made a big impact. Although, when he asked for her help concerning his fake death, he presented a level of trust she hardly got a glimpse of.

Her words caused his gaze to land upon her. He made some kind of mental reservation when it came to her importance at first, but his views were realized on the simple mention of 'I don't count.' He rested his arms, closing their proximity a bit just as he lifted his chin almost having to challenge the ambiguity of what she said. "You've changed while I was gone, not completely but you have."

When he leaned forward, she didn't veer back like she wanted to. The impulsion was there yet Molly could only stare back at him as she shifted slightly. This wasn't the closest Sherlock Holmes has ever been to her. On two accounts he's been near enough to feel his breath against her face, to take in the soft touch of his lips when he placed a kiss on her cheek. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure how to interpret anything he did. "Have I?" she queried back, tilting her head to mirror his motions. "Sometimes I feel like some things will never change, like they're just meant to be one way."

Possibly like they were. Never destined to be romantically involved, but she sensed the attraction that pulled her towards him, the thing that made her want to believe in love at first sight. It was his cleverness, his burning intellect that fascinated her. His ability to calculate was commendable, something she revered. Molly was always a sensible girl, yet when he was near all sense flooded from her.

He replied with unwonted slowness, normally he would have been quick to comment but something stalled him and contradicted a quip remark. "You never know for sure. Sometimes the most unlikely to change can surprise you. Certainly you've realized that yourself."

"Yes, I think I have," she commented, in fact she was looking at someone who has. Sherlock could still be cold and say horrible things but he was letting so much more of himself out, maybe without even recognizing he was doing so. It became silent and she felt herself flush at the stall. It was moments like these, ones rendered with gentle dialogue, she wanted to preserve in her mind. When there didn't feel like so much space between them, like he never left. "I can't imagine what's different about me," she further expressed to take away some of the muteness.

Sherlock smiled a bit, allowing the incline of his lips to stay for a few moments. "You were always more of a quiet girl, a tad reserved, but strong at the same time. The contrast lies in the way you speak, more solid and outgoing, the way you hold yourself, upright with additional self-assurance. They are all good aspects if to be opinionated by a ridiculous man such as myself."

She felt her cheeks burn another time. It was rare to get any form of compliment from him, but what he said was very true. "Ridiculous is hardly the term I'd use to describe you." He called himself that during his speech as well, perhaps he really viewed himself like that despite his small ways of telling other his mind exceeds theirs in multiple ways.

"What would you go with then?" he asked, bringing his hands together. His brow was raised in an inquisitive way, making his curiosity known. There were only so many adjectives individuals used to describe him.

Several words surfaced but died before they could leave her lips, ones too charismatic than he would have wanted to hear. Saying too much could make him uncomfortable; it would raise too many questions. She couldn't allow her interest in him to be shown so openly. Simple conversation wasn't something that could change his mind about her, where they stood, or how he felt. She wanted to tell him everything, but instead she opted to keep her affections inside like always.

"I don't know, maybe something less normative than that. A lot of people say you're brilliant, which is true." Molly paused for a second, attempting to think of a better term. "You seem to be more extroverted then others realize."

What was praise if not fulsome? The consulting detective leaned back, opening the space between them once more. "Interesting, I haven't heard that one before. Most have to do with how smart I am or simply how rude I could be, which let's face it, I tend to offend people on a daily basis."

She gave a light shake of her head. "I can't disagree with that entirely, but I believe there is more to you than that. If I was being completely honest, I'd say I know there is more to you than you let others see." His mind was always racing, he was in an endless state of alert, and she had to wonder if it got to be too much sometimes.

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally in consideration to her way of amenably speaking. Again, the constant why bubbling onto his lips, despite what he knew about her the way she was always able to hold a high regard of him no matter what he did was bewildering. "And if I was to ask why you feel that way, what would you say?" Somehow, he knew she'd give him an answer.

Her head tilted to the side when she heard his doubts spoken aloud. "I guess it's because I've seen how good of a person you can be. What you'd do to protect the people you care about. I also understand why you don't show it often."

Sherlock kept his gaze straight for a few moments. She was able to grasp more things about him that he was sure only someone close to him, such as John was, would be able to do that. Perhaps her fondness of him was the cause of it.

He's learned over the years, due to certain circumstances and events, attachments, especially romantic ones, held you down. Sherlock decided a long time ago he didn't need anyone in that sense; he couldn't afford to accept those types of feelings. Whether he actually wanted someone was an entirely different argument, though he'd never let his mind linger on it.

He wasn't sure exactly how to make a reply to what she said, however he felt like he had to give some sort of acknowledgement to her words, although it came out a bit callous than he intended. "And what exactly makes you think you know so much about me?"

At his almost harsh questioning, her brows raised as she finally gave an elusive answer, straying away from the strict truth of the matter. "No reason. It's nothing important anyway. Sorry if I was being a bit too intrusive. I didn't mean anything by it." She should have known by now, acclaiming wasn't something he was used to and by saying such things, even if it wasn't much, she was sure he felt too exposed for his liking.

"You don't have to apologize," Sherlock told her in softer tone. When had life become so complicated that a conversation or even a cup of coffee with her didn't seem as simple as it once was? "I know all of this may have seemed a bit… out of the blue, me asking you to come along during cases since I never asked you before but I appreciate you coming."

The corner of her lips pulled up in an appreciated sort of smile at his reply. This time, she didn't avoid giving an honest comeback, not completely anyway. "Like I told you before, I really don't mind. It's very different than I imagined, from the things John writes on his blog I thought it would be more dangerous, so to speak. You probably wouldn't ask me to come if they were though."

Before Sherlock could give an answer his phone went off, alerting him of the text message he received. Nodding a bit to her response, he took his cell out of his coat pocket and quickly read through the message. "It's from someone in my Homeless Network. They got that task done sooner than I expected. Look at this," he said, placing the device in front of her.

"You wanted them to map out London for you?" Molly questioned, getting a look at the screen. She supposed he had his reasons for asking for such a thing, he always did. "What do those dots represent?"

"They're all the locations our attacker has killed someone. Evidently, he stays in a certain radius, which is good for us." He leaned forward and pointed out the first place to her, seeming to pass off their previous conversation the moment the assignment was back into discussion. "This is the place he initially started, meaning I'll have my best chance gathering evidence here as long as it hasn't been tampered with."

He started murmuring a few coherent verses, a bit lost in his racing thoughts to notice they both went to grab the phone at the same time. The initial contact made this rambling come to a stop just before he jerked his hand away in an attempt to avoid the same reaction he had previously. He didn't even realize his sudden movement knocked her coffee over until she made a small gasping sound as the liquid dowsed her clothing.

"Sorry," he quickly muttered almost stalling his motions prior to handing her a few napkins. Getting up, almost too swiftly, he gabbed some more at one of the other tables, passing them to her and knelt down to clean off the floor some.

"It's okay. I can get the stain out," she mentioned, dabbing her shirt. She didn't expect him to yank his arm back that way, but banging into her cup was an accident and he did express regret. "At least your phone's alright." Despite it all, Molly smiled a bit, unable to be mad at him for something as silly as this.

"Yes, well I can't say the same for your clothing," he mentioned, shaking his head due to his actions. The moment Sherlock looked up he met her eyes and once again endured a lack of speech as no sound was pass his lips. And to add to this strange occurrence he felt his heart as it started beating at a faster rate than normal. He cleared his throat in hopes to get rid of the lump forming and the pressing silence that followed. "I mentioned before how many things are the same, but there is one thing about you, Molly Hooper that will never change."

She was a bit too flustered to ask what that was or even render some kind of response. Their faces were close once again, far more near then they had been at the table. She wasn't able to move an inch went her brown orbs were locked with his. Her eyes followed him as he stood, catching the slight hesitation as he did so.

"Apparently, it's pasted closing time," he stated, glancing around to calm his nerves. Neither of them noticed the people leaving while they were talking or the fact that they'd been conversing well into the night. "We should probably get going."

She gave a slight nod as he placed some money down. Once outside a few words was thrown between them, but Sherlock was acting differently again, his focus laid somewhere else as if he was trying to concentrate on anything but her.

It wasn't that strange to see since he has been distant to her in the past, pulling away from anything that went beyond simple conversation. Truthfully Molly didn't know much about him, but what she did know, and what she could see from a mere glance, put many things into perspective and explained so much. Sherlock Holmes was proud, oftentimes too much, but never vain.

Since he was spending time with her rather than brushing her aside showed how much he had altered over the course of two years. It made her expression soften, and she wanted to say something, comment on it perhaps, but she knew that would only make it worse on him.

He didn't need to say he was walking her back to her place, she figured it out when he didn't separate from her. It was dark after all and there weren't many cabs driving by. The quietness, which seemed to form around them a lot lately, wasn't hard to endure; actually it was a bit peaceful.

When they finally reached her building, he paused a few steps from the door. "Molly," Sherlock said, stopping her movements. Whatever these feelings were he doubted they'd be leaving anytime soon. Clearly being with her was making him feel different and he was unsure on how to make things go back to normal. He could say something on the matter but decides against it. "…Never mind."

And just like that, she wanted to take a step forward, the level of detachment in his words concerned her. She gave an incline of her head. Distancing one's self she can understand; he always separated himself from others. She couldn't even tell him that she wanted to know what he was going to say, for he was sure to know that already.

Tonight, she was too tired to press the matter. The fact that he was still standing there, just looking at her with an eased filled expression was enough. She accepted his profound gratitude for helping him with Moriarty and in return he was treating her as a friend, someone who mattered. It was enough to make her heart ache, because there was nothing else she could do to thank him in return, to tell him how much she cared for him even if it was on a different level.

Molly merely gave a short nod, saying goodnight before heading inside. It was clear that nothing else was going to be said and there was no use standing around when they both had so much to do the next day.

Sherlock stood there for a while longer, shaking his head dismissively. The one thing that wouldn't change about her was how caring towards others she was. It wasn't something he could pride himself on, he admitted to that a long time ago. Heading back to Baker Street, he let out a sigh as his mind became muddled in too much thought about the woman he parted from.

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><p><strong>The main point of this chapter was to get more progress in their relationship. I don't want to go too fast but I also don't want them getting together to take forever. I hope my story is still keeping everyone's interest, please review and let me know what you think.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**I wish I could update faster but things came up and I'd rather not rush, I'm sure you guys understand. I'm getting a lot of wonderful feedback, so thank you to all the people who leave reviews, I really appreciate it. **

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><p>Molly folded her fingers together on the small table she was seated at. It's been two days since Sherlock came to the morgue to collect some information on the bodies connected to the latest string of murders. It wasn't uncommon for him to disappear for short intervals of time, so she wasn't all that worried about it. The only thing preoccupying her mind lately was the time they spent together at the café.<p>

It was nothing exceptionally amazing, just a conversation yet it was a bit different than ones they've shared in the past. By the end of it, he was acting a tad odd, but it wasn't something she could concern herself with, not without a more stable reason to go off of. She was sure stress had something to do with why he was a little off and if that wasn't the cause, she was at a loss.

As of right now, the brunette was waiting for Tom to come downstairs. The whole moving out situation was a topic they haven't talked about since she broke up with him however; it was painfully obvious how tense the atmosphere has become between them, which prompted her to give Mrs. Hudson's offer some more thought. After debating it for a while, she came to a common consensus with herself.

The dog, who sat next to Molly's feet underneath the table, got up the moment Tom walked into the room. The furry animal was greeted with a few pats on the head before he proceeded to get a cup of coffee. It didn't take him long to notice how quiet Molly was being. Glancing over at her, he tilted his head a bit before settling down at the table.

She acknowledged his presence by sending a small placid smile at him but soon glimpsed downward. He sighed, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface prior to voicing his question. "You have that 'I've been thinking' kind of look on your face. What's wrong?"

Molly nearly forgot how well he was able to read her. After brushing her hair behind her shoulders, she looked up at him, steadily meeting his eyes. Now probably wasn't the best time to bring this up considering they both had a job to get to within the hour, but she gave a reply regardless. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

He already knew what it was about, as her mild-mannered tone gave her away. He brought his cup to his lips and took a sip, nodding lightly as he did so. "And what would that be?" He kept his face smooth of emotion while asking, although he anticipated a roundabout reply, he was surprised she got straight to the point without even taking a second to pause.

"I know it's only been a few days, but I decided I'm going to stay somewhere else for a while and look for a more permanent flat while I'm there." Her brown hues didn't quite reach his anymore. "When I was over Sherlock's, Mrs. Hudson suggested I stay for a while, just until I can figure a few things out." For some peculiar reason, she didn't want to outright say the detective's name, as if mentioning him would trigger another argument.

"Do you mean stay in one of the available rooms or stay as in with him?" he asked, inclining forward a little. Was he really bothered by a detail as minor as that? Perhaps he only asked her because she was a bit hesitant to say much on the matter.

She noticed the darkening of his eyes at her words and didn't have to wonder what she had said had caused it. Was Sherlock a reminder of what they'd lost? In a way he could blame him because he was the reason their relationship was abandoned. She pressed her lips together at his inquiry, debating on the best way to go about giving a decent reply.

Molly let out an easy breath. Honesty was the only course she could take and it didn't feel right to lie, not when she knew he was still hurt by the breakup. "Yes, with him." She stopped there for a moment, allowing herself some time to recollect her thoughts. "Don't take this the wrong way, but we really need some space from one another. I know you have to feel the same."

The funny thing about her statement was it was true. Things didn't feel right between them, they weren't able to settle back into being friends when they were around each other so often, not to mention how clear the level of discomfort was. Spending some time apart could actually do them some good in the long run. "I do, but are you sure that's what you want?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked right away. There was no doubt held within her decision, besides the obvious fact that she and Sherlock would be seeing much more of one another, in the morning, when he decides to drop by the morgue, and at night.

Tom drew back some, reclining in his chair. He didn't feel that great about her decision, nonetheless that didn't give him the right to refute it in any way. "It's just that you'd be staying with him for a while and I've only met him twice… but he doesn't seem to be interested in much else than his work."

Deciding it was best not to voice her opinions, at least not quite yet, she nodded. "I know he's not. I don't have an ulterior motive. I'm just staying because he said I could if I needed to." Her voice didn't shake, nor did she waver. Molly really didn't have a hidden agenda and she wanted him to know that, in a way it was necessary. She didn't leave him to run off with Sherlock, she ended things because she was still in love with him, knowing full well nothing would happen.

She had learned never to show weakness, never let others in unless you want them to see more of the person you truly are. When they were together, she was very open with him and now that sincerity was practically gone. Molly wasn't quite sure what she wanted Tom to see, for she wasn't even sure what he saw of her right at this moment. A girl foolishly following her heart or someone who broke his.

"If this is what you want to do then I have no say. I can't tell you what you should or shouldn't do," Tom told her, his tone withdrawn some. His gaze shifted once more to the table; however no further movement was made.

It wasn't easy for him to get out, she could tell. She gave him an almost sad smile. "I'm sorry about everything, you know. I admit, I really wanted to marry you." Until Sherlock came back into the picture, still the thought made her feel awful about the whole thing. Rather than her dismayed look disappearing, it simply became more pronounced at her next sentence. "Thank you for understanding…" she said, choosing her words carefully.

"I've known you for over a year now, I know how sorry you are," he replied, catching her expression. In the end, he just wanted her to be happy, but she visibly wasn't alright. "Sometimes things have a weird way of working out. I'm not mad at you." He couldn't be and maybe that was the problem. Regardless, there wasn't much he could say at this point to lessen her feeling of regret.

"I don't know how you couldn't be but I won't ask you why if you don't want to explain." She left it open for him to give an answer on his own accord, believing that to be the best course to take on the matter.

Tom paused for a few moments and gave her a small smile. "Even though we're not together anymore, I would like to go back to being friends." That was about all he could offer, besides he didn't want her out of his life completely. "Obviously, we'd give each other some space first."

Her brows raised slightly in surprise, caught off guard by his response. She had expected a denial to go into further detail, not that. Molly knew how kind he was; in fact it was presented upon their first meeting. She was pleasantly stunned, so to speak. The brunette hadn't anticipated befriending him as quickly as she did, but she'd be lying if she said no to his request. After a while, she'd miss spending time with him as well. "I'd like that."

He gave a nod, feeling a little better knowing their friendship could at least be saved if nothing else. Before being able to say anything further on the topic, his eyes caught the clock. "You should probably head to work. You don't want to be late."

"Right," Molly muttered a bit. She stood from the table and gave him one last look. "I guess I'll see you when I get back." Not knowing what else to say, she could only utter those words. Once out the door, she held her hand out to try and catch a cab.

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><p>By the time she got out if Bart's it was late in the afternoon. Molly decided to stop by Baker Street to talk to Mrs. Hudson about a few things before actually making any official plans. She knocked lightly on the door, even though she was told to come in whenever. The older woman greeted her the second she walked in, as she was on her way down the stairs.<p>

"Sherlock's not here at the moment," she briefly mentioned, assuming that's who Molly came to see. She came to a stop at the end of the staircase, throwing her arms up in a small motion apparently displeased about something. "He's here one minute and gone the next, it's impossible to keep up with him. And he left such a mess. I've told him before, I am not his housekeeper."

As the landlady shook her head, Molly shifted her position deciding not to remark on that. "I'm actually here to talk to you… about moving in. I just have a few questions." There were a small number of things weighing down on her choice, nothing that couldn't be dismissed after a few words, in any case her mind wouldn't be changed that hastily.

"Well, let's not talk out here, come in and have some tea, I just made it," Mrs. Hudson replied, already walking into her complex. She entered the kitchen and took out two cups. After pouring the liquid and placing everything down on the table, she sat across from Molly. "So, what is it that you want to talk about?"

A small sip was taken prior to thanking her. Her main objective was to converse with older woman, but she was starting to almost draw away from the idea. Since she was here, she couldn't really brush it off. "I was just wondering, from your point of view, how has Sherlock been since he came back?" She often found herself concerned, if not worried for some reason unbeknownst even to herself.

"He seems normal to me, a bit out of sorts sometimes but that's to be expected." A small shrug was given. Some wonder was held in her tone simply because she didn't expect the youngest Holmes to be their topic of discussion, however, she continued. "With John moved out, I really think it would do him some good to have some company every now and again. He's always so focused on cases though. Why are you asking?"

The brunette never anticipated him to be gone two years and come back without any differences, she was just curious if anyone else noticed. "I'm a bit concerned, is all. I was only hesitant to say yes right away because I wasn't sure if it was the best idea. I know I won't be staying forever." In a sense it felt wrong to come and go when he already had so many changes to get used to.

"Don't worry about that too much. I'm sure things will work out just fine." She waved it off very much used to the way Sherlock was. "I'm sure having you around will be nice, regardless of how long." A light grin presented itself, as she too would like having Molly here for a while.

She shouldn't have been surprised as she was at the woman's benevolence. Her lips turned upwards as well. Quite frankly, she wanted to remain here as long as possible, but it was, as previously stated, a temporary arrangement. Despite how nervous the whole ordeal made her, she couldn't turn back. "I guess all I really need to know is when the best time to move in is. Do you have a specific day or anything like that?"

"Whenever you're ready. There are papers to be signed and other things to discuss but that could be done later," Mrs. Hudson told her. Upon hearing the front door open and footsteps being taken, she rose from her seat. "I think that's Sherlock now. You should probably let him know what you've decided."

"Of course. Thank you again, for letting me stay and for the tea," Molly replied before doing as she suggested. The doctor left the room and took a small breath before treading up to the next floor. She wanted to make sure all of this was still okay with him. He really was acting different, and it wasn't solely because he was gone for a long time. Something else was bugging him and she was intending to find out at some point.

The door was slightly left open, allowing her space to peer inside. The brunette didn't see him, so she knocked a few times prior coming in. The room was untidy, probably more so before Mrs. Hudson came to clean some of the chaos. She spotted the detective rummaging through a stack of papers, apparently unable to hear her. "Sherlock," Molly said a tad louder.

He made a small wave motion but didn't look up from what he was doing. "Didn't know you were stopping by," he muttered, moving to a different stack. Of course, the documents all had something to do with the current case.

"It seems like you've been busy," she stated, getting no response from him once again. Nonetheless, Molly paced a few steps into the room. Her head tilted to the side, visibly trying to make sense of what he was doing. She didn't want to mention it, but if she was thinking correctly it seemed like he was ignoring her, or at least trying to.

"Sorry to run out after you came, but there's something else I have to look into." He completely evaded her gaze when heading to the door, which he was well aware how quickly she would pick up on that factor. Just as he was almost out of the room, he felt her grab onto his arm. Her grip was loose as she hardly put any effort into stopping him, yet it caused his motion to pause almost instantaneously.

"Wait," Molly said, slightly stunned by her own actions. He was avoiding her, although she was clueless to why he would. Was he doing the same thing for the past few days? Releasing her hold, she stepped back some and inclined her head a little. Now she could feel his orbs on her. "Did I do something wrong? I don't want to assume I did, but it seems like you don't want to talk to me."

He was silent for a moment. The only reason he was keeping his distance in the first place was to try and get his mind off of her, but it was reeling the second he set eyes on the woman. He could hear the hurt in her voice and moved a bit uncomfortably. "No, I didn't mean to give you that impression."

Molly recognized his tone and it caused her brown hues to shoot up almost instantly, it was the same one he used when he apologized to her a few Christmases ago. Her immediate response to his statement would have been a question, an automatic 'then why?', but she stopped herself. Perhaps it's the way he no longer had that bold look on his face that halted her, instead of going for an alternative inquiry, her words come out of her mouth before she can think it though. "Well, you did."

He gave a small smile at her frankness; somewhat amazed at how easily it formed on his lips, although he could tell she didn't intend to say something so outright. Was this what it always felt like to be in Molly's company when there was no one else around? When it was just the two of them? Would it change if someone came into the room? "Not very shocking," he mentioned, his expression calm. "I tend to do that more often than not." And he doesn't regret admitting it, as it was a clear fact known to both of them

"I didn't mean to say it like that, actually." Her cheeks tinged a light pink color due from a small amount of embarrassment. "I know it wasn't done intentionally. Granted, and don't get me wrong, I feel like something's not right and you just don't want to tell me." She didn't say it to hurt him, it was just the truth and it was somewhat a sad one, but reality all the same. "I mean, sometimes I think I might have an idea but then you go on and do something I can't quite figure out." Like right now.

Her words were softly spoken, because she could respect his space. But her confusion was mixed with so many other things she could hardly think straight, but Molly didn't want to, or maybe she couldn't, force an answer out of him.

In the end, she knew words only got them so far, especially when he wanted to be distant, but his eyes often spoke of things he would never say out loud, whenever they didn't have that glint of excitement each and every time a new assignment entranced him. The brunette wondered, and not for the first time, why she out of all people could see so much of him but then lose it within a second.

"A lot on my mind," he replied with a shrug, as it sounded somewhat silly out loud and a tad of an understatement, he always had too much running through his thoughts. "I'm sure that's not the answer you wanted to hear though." Because her interest in him somewhat fascinated and confused him, he couldn't exactly bring himself to tell her she was the one weighing down his ability to think straight. That's why avoidance appeared to be the best course to take.

She gave a soft smile, shaking her head at his response, the look on her face seemed incongruent, but not out of place. She bit down on her lip. "It's not, but it's okay." Molly paused and nodded a few times. "The reason I came by was to tell you that I decided to stay for a while, if it was still okay with you, of course."

"Oh," he replied, raising his head. He had said he didn't mind and that remained true, but before he wasn't feeling so… out of place, so to say, when with her. And it was getting worse however, something in him wouldn't allow him to take back anything. Maybe whatever was going on would disappear.

Her expression relaxed, seeing as his reply was lacking words. "I don't plan on staying an extensive amount of time." It's the only reassurance she could give, strangely enough she felt like she had to. "I don't know how long it's going to take me to find someplace else to live, but I promise to stay out of your way when you're working." After all, she was merely going to be a guest.

Sherlock shifted his hands into his pockets, needing to do something with them. "If anything, I'm probably going to be more of a bother. I'm sure John mentioned a few of my annoying habits on his blog, although he knows I hate it when he does things like that." Actually, he pretty much disliked anything written about him unless it was concerning a case.

"If it makes you feel any better, he doesn't do it very often," Molly added, knowing exactly how he felt about the whole thing, for that too was revealed online and Sherlock has said it to her before. "Besides, I'm quite fond of the violin."

That was one thing he didn't know. He realized at this moment he actually knew next to nothing about Molly Hooper. Despite what he could deduce and read so easily from her, there was so much mystery surrounding the girl. It left him bemused, but also fairly interested. She is and always has been an enigma and he hated simply not _knowing_ something. So, it wasn't extremely odd that he couldn't figure why she was attracted to someone who could be so cold and calculating. Because really, why him of all people?

"I guess we shouldn't run into any problems." She could do better than Sherlock Holmes. Clearly, Molly was capable of getting attention from other guys, ones who weren't, as he stated to her, sociopaths. "How are things with you and Tom? He knows you're staying here, right?" Without much reason, he found himself wanting to know what was going on between the two of them.

She gave him a small shake of her head at the suppressed curiosity in his voice. "Yes, he does. We both agreed that we needed some space. It was getting a bit awkward, but I'm hoping that will go away soon." Her gaze left him again, but it wasn't intentional. "We're going to try and be friends again, I think we can get back to that after some time."

Just by her wording, Sherlock knew Tom was the one who suggested it. And it was said so soon after they broke up? He was aware that someone else was the reason their marriage wasn't happening. Obviously, he wasn't as over her as she thought him to be. He, however, kept his mouth shut on the matter.

Molly shuffled her position a bit, again feeling too many emotions at once as it was hard to straighten them all out. "Since tomorrow is Saturday, I was thinking I could start moving some of my things here." She glanced up, watching as he stood in silence, keeping his orbs on her. Maybe that was too soon. She quickly tried to fix her sentence. "Or I could wait a while longer; I don't expect you to drop everything for-"

She immediately stopped speaking when a hand was placed on her shoulder. The brunette didn't even realize he moved. His touch was most likely meant to calm her down but it only increased her nerves and overloaded her senses. The man seemed to evoke every fiber of her being without even trying. Her face felt incredibly hot but she couldn't get her mouth to move.

"Tomorrow is fine, Molly. You don't need to get so worked up." His eyes softened the slightest. He could have just spoken over her, yet instead his first instinct was to go a more gentle way, which was fairly unusual to ponder about. As he drew his hand back, it lightly grazed the side of her cheek. It was accidental yet minor spark sensation caused him to place it back into his pocket right away. This girl really was getting the better of him and he didn't know what to make of it.

Her eyes closed for a moment as a subtle sigh escaped her lips. He really was clueless when it came to anything regarding romance or how he made her feel. Molly shook it off, attempting to regain a composed look, although she failed miserably. "I just wasn't sure if you were alright with me staying so soon after knowing John isn't coming back." She hoped she wasn't bringing up a sore topic.

"You seem overly concerned on the fact that he isn't always going to be around," Sherlock replied, angling his head towards her. Because she knew how he truly felt about it, that he'd never admit to missing his best friend. However, he accepted his marriage to Mary and knew they'd be happy together, their upcoming child included.

"More like worried about you… I mean how you're handling it." That didn't come out like she wanted. She pressed her lips together almost wanting to shake her head and scold herself for saying too much. Her hands soon came together, knowing how late it was. "But I should get going, you were busy after all. Can I ask what it was you were doing?"

The sudden topic change was noticed, but it seemed to be better this way. "Going through previous records, trying to connect a few things, nothing exceedingly important…" He rubbed the back of his neck as he trailed off. He didn't know what else to say, the case wasn't distracting him like he hoped it would. His mind kept wondering, which was very frustrating.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," Molly added with a small nod. He said a few words similar to hers before he stepped to the side, allowing her to pass by him. The way he moved, practically stiff, almost made her stop and turn back around, yet she kept walking. It was hard not to take everything he did into consideration, but lately he appeared more unreadable than normal.

Sherlock Holmes, by no means, was ever an open book. He was so many things at once and despite her ability to see past the aspects he wanted to hide, Molly still found it a bit difficult to understand him completely. She might not know exactly what kind of a guy he was, or what caused him to do certain things, but she knew he wasn't a bad person. He couldn't be, not when she'd seen such good in him once upon a time, and traces of it even now.

The moment the door closed Sherlock sat down on the sofa. The few piles of papers were left abandoned to the side. His mind couldn't possibly focus on work. Seeing Molly shouldn't be muddling his thought process or diverting his concentration. Even though she wasn't in the room anymore, he could still feel it, the increase of his heartbeat, an off feeling in his stomach, the want to be near to her.

It was overbearing, something he never truly had to deal with in the past. The worst part was no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make any of it go away and every time he saw her again; she reestablished all of it. Sherlock ruffled his hair in slight aggravation before falling back onto the cushion.

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><p><strong>I hope everyone's looking forward to the next chapter, which will be out as soon as possible. Now that Molly will be staying with Sherlock, I can pick up the pace a bit, while still keeping it as slow of course, after all timing is very important. Please review!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm surprised I already have over one hundred people following this story. I didn't think I'd have so many this soon. Thanks again for all those people who took the time to leave a review, the feedback really helps when it comes to writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>It was around ten o'clock and Sherlock was nearly pacing about the room. He had to do something while waiting. It was nearly a half hour ago that he contacted his Homeless Network, trying to get them to narrow down the search. Far too many people could be the ringleader of the latest murders. He needed more information, some kind of way to eliminate the number of people.<p>

While concentrating on this small dilemma, as he surely expected to have more data to go off of by now, Molly would be here soon. She was moving in and after yesterday's encounter with her, he was lost on how to approach the situation. First he'd have to figure out exactly what had a hold of him. How she managed to just make him feel so completely off.

That's what really confused Sherlock. Molly wasn't doing anything different than she normally would; she didn't try to take his breath away and still managed to do it with ease. He inwardly scolded himself for thinking something so rash. All those silly sensations only point to one thing, however he was not one to succumb to something so rudimentary. But, still… how could he ignore the dull throbbing in his chest from simply looking at the girl, from just being near her? Certainly, this was never a problem before. It was utterly ridiculous to even consider.

Besides, he could act normal around her, most of the time. Maybe whatever was going on would just disappear. That was only wishful thinking. His mind has been Molly Hooper centric for days, he was lucky if he could focus on the case for an hour without her popping back up, interrupting his ability to hold his attention to one thing. Mycroft's assignment was never going to be concluded at this rate. John would be back within a day or two, but that did him no good right now.

His feet finally came to a stop at the window. A good size portion of Baker Street could be seen from this level, regardless of that minor detail, his gaze was directed right below him. He saw Molly stepping out of a cab, a few bags in her hands. The smallest smile came to his lips upon seeing her, one he didn't even realize occupying his face until it dropped the moment Tom came into view.

It appeared as if he was only helping her with her things, not coming inside. Strangely enough he was bothered seeing them together, yet he pushed it away. As far as he was concerned it didn't mean anything. He sat down in his chair, rubbing his temples, attempting to get his thoughts to stay straight. If this was going to keep happening, it would be problematic.

He ceased his fickle movement when knocking was heard a few moments later. Getting up, he opened the door, sidestepping to let her to walk past him before shutting it. "Is that everything you brought?" he questioned upon seeing a little amount of luggage. He was assuming she'd bring a lot more, then again she wasn't planning to stay forever.

"I had other things but they were too big to carry over and they'd probably take up too much room. Tom said I can leave them at his place for now," Molly replied a bit out of breath. "Where should I put these?"

"John's room," he mentioned, making a small motion towards the area. As she disappeared from view, he shook his head, annoyed at his inability to stop himself from feeling so many unusual emotions at once. He brought his hands together, resting his fingers against his mouth. The minimal act normally used when thinking also helped clear his mind. With a heavy exhale, he was able to regain some control.

With hands free from bags, Molly came back into the room, already starting to talk. Her nerves were a bit haywire just knowing she was going to be alone with him. "I should probably let Toby out and let him get used to this place. He hates being stuck in his carrier for a long time." She knelt down, letting the fluffy cat slowly make his way out.

"It's best if we just let him get used to the transition on his own," Sherlock said, sitting back down in his chair. He watched the feline for a moment prior to shifting his gaze back to Molly. He didn't quite know what to say now; normally she'd be over for a specific reason, hence a topic of discussion.

Her walk was almost tentative as she took a few steps into the kitchen. Most of his equipment for a multitude of experiments was placed about the counter and table. "Do you mind if I use the phone?" Molly questioned, swaying her hands together.

"You know, you don't have to ask," Sherlock said, drawing back a breath. Her wide-eyed innocence, the sweetness in her trust, the way she always looked at him with the upmost affection stopped him from turning down any request, even one as simple as that. And it wasn't all bad, he didn't mind those aspects. It was the fact that she made it easy to let down some of those walls he so carefully placed that concerned him.

But as she stood across the room, seeming to be calling another place about canceling wedding arrangements, the detective could sense the change in the ambiance around him. He could almost fall into it if it wasn't for the awareness he constantly held no matter where he went or who he was with.

His hues were suddenly directed away from her the moment pressure was felt on his leg. He looked down to see Toby staring up at him with wide eyes. Moving his hands around the cat's stomach, he placed him back on the ground. "Stay," he said with some uncertainty, only to have him jump back onto his lap.

"He's not a dog, Sherlock," Molly said with a half giggle as she placed her hand over the receiver. "He normally dislikes strangers; I'm surprised he took such a liking to you so quickly." At his bothered expression, she held back the need to laugh some more. "Just pet him for a while and he'll be satisfied when you put him back on the floor."

He canted his head to the side, a sigh fleeing his lips. Sherlock did as she suggested, letting Toby get comfortable. When Molly turned and started talking again the sound of her laughter echoed back, ringing in his ears as if she was still going. Beautiful came to mind, but he quickly swatted the term away. This was not the time to be letting anything remotely similar to that word pass through his thoughts.

With a rounded turn of his neck, Sherlock shifted his attention back to the cat, which unknowingly was going to be named after him at first before Molly changed her mind on the matter.

A couple of minutes passed before the phone was hung up and Molly came back into the room. "Who would think it'd be so hard for one person to understand the there is no more wedding," she expressed in mild complaint. She settled down her annoyance on the subject and took a seat on the couch. "Anyway, how's the case going? I assume you're still working on it."

"At this point I'm waiting for more information." If Mycroft didn't insist on keeping this one quiet, he could have found suspect by now but he couldn't rightfully criticize the agreement they made concerning the job. But if something wasn't found soon he might stray from the confines of their discussion.

"I'm sure you'll find him. You always do," she told him. Molly repeatedly found herself believing in him no matter the situation. Perhaps that was why she was so ready to do whatever he needed, because she truly held him in high regard.

"More often than not," Sherlock replied. "Unfortunately, I can't handle this one like the rest. If I went beyond my Homeless Network and a few certain individuals, the details of the case would surely end up in the newspaper the next morning. Reporters would do just about anything." That one encounter with Kitty Riley was enough to prove that fact.

The brunette nodded, tangling her fingers together. "If you want help with something, I wouldn't mind. Unless, you plan on working this one with John when he gets back sometime tomorrow, then I'll just be at the morgue like normal if you need me." Wouldn't he seek the army doctor's assistance before hers? They're best friends and were always together, so it wouldn't surprise her.

"I'm not sure he's going to be working with me all the time, he's married now. He's going to want to be with Mary." That was true enough, they were happy and John wouldn't go running off for a case unless it was necessary. Sherlock looked up, his gaze steadily fixated on her. "Besides, you've always been helpful, don't underestimate your importance."

Again he mentioned her level of meaning, but she felt undeserving for the most part. "I don't feel like I do all that much, just show you bodies when you ask. It's no big deal." A question sprang to her lips, but she swallowed it, wanting to allow him to speak. She stifled her worry and confusion at his statement; she could express more and wanted to but not right now.

He was a famous detective while she simply worked at a hospital. Honestly, she'd do whatever he asked of her, clearly dedicated. Molly couldn't help but wonder what extent his 'you do count, you've always counted and I've always trusted you' went to. She wanted it to mean more than it did, but that was just fantasy. He wasn't suddenly going to fall for her, things like that don't just happen.

"In retrospect, perhaps not but it matters to me. You're one of the people I can trust," he stated, with a shrug as if it was the simplest thing in the world to say. He caught her eyes again and the way she was looking at him, no longer holding a perplexed expression, merely taking in everything he said.

There was something akin to reliance in Sherlock's eyes, and Molly's wasn't sure what to make of it. While she was flattered, she wanted to shake her head because she also knew he'd tell her not to trust in everything, in people, so easily because more often than not, they'll let you down. And in a way, she found that rather sad.

Regardless, the corner of her lips pull upward. She realized how often she lowers her own significance, but it was hard not to sometimes. "You're not the type of person who depends on others easily, so thank you." Molly glanced away, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. It was silly to blush over an unpretentious thing such as that; however, it was an involuntary reaction.

Lost on what to say or why she was expressing gratitude in the first place, his brows furrowed. Shouldn't it be the other way around? "You know, sometimes you can be a bit too nice for you own good, Molly. My opinion, there's not enough people like that." His facial features softened a little. He was quick to recognize he was starting to let his guard down around her and wasn't quite sure if that was a bad thing or not.

She was rendered a tad speechless. It's not every day Sherlock Holmes said things without pretense and with such an honest face as well. She couldn't deny the accuracy of his words, knowing how he came to such a conclusion as he was constantly surrounded by criminals. Her brown hues flickered between them. "No, I suppose there isn't. That's just the way I am, I guess."

He paused for a few seconds, letting a silence rest between them. He didn't need to hear her reply, but when it's finally spoken out loud, it didn't only confirm his suspicions, but raised a certain respect towards her. She was always honest with him. Sherlock knew better than most how difficult it is to admit it, confess that you're not in the best situation. If he was being candid and something similar to Moriarty was to come up, he wasn't sure he'd be able to admit it out loud again.

Just from gazing at her sweetened smile, he felt it all over again, everything he wanted to push away. There was a tug-of-war feeling on the concept. Caring for another person shouldn't be wrong, but at the same time it wasn't something he felt very worthy of, at least not from her. Veering his attention, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Since you brought up helping me, there's actually something I meant to get to last night, but ran out of time."

Really, he was getting too frustrated at his failed attempt to stop thinking about her to fully concentrate on anything work related and therefore nothing got done. He could only blame himself for that one.

Molly didn't mind. Maybe it was because he's Sherlock and she was used to him altering from one subject to another. Either way, she relaxed her shoulders, knowing no matter how high-strung she was, lending a hand when he asked wasn't something she could deny. "Sure, what do you need?"

Lifting the sleepy feline from his lap, the detective placed him back on the ground. "Hold on just a moment." Sherlock disappeared into his room prior to coming out with two boxes. Once they were placed in the middle of the floor, he opened them and gestured for her to come over. "Those days I was in and out, I picked up a few newspapers. I haven't had the chance to go through them yet."

"There's more than just a few here," Molly mentioned, starting to take them out after him. From what she could tell, most of them were dated back a few years ago. "Where did you get all of these? Let me guess, from someone who owes you a favor?" She could see how his focus was suddenly so intact with his work, as if he was having a hard time keeping something out of his thoughts.

"No actually, I didn't know the person, but she willing to give them to me," Sherlock replied, momentarily glancing up at her. "Although she went on a bit about other cases I worked on, all I had to do was ask."

"Oh, she liked you then?" Molly's voiced dropped in disappointment as did her eyes. Of course she wasn't the only girl who has a crush on him, but by now she considered it something deeper than that but still; she had to wonder if he cared about a detail as small as that one in the first place.

"Didn't really notice," Sherlock absently told the brunette. He started placing a few papers on the ground, sifting through them rather quickly. "What we're looking for should be on the first page. Anything that seems remotely similar to the most recent murders will do."

Everything she wanted to say on the topic was kept inside. It wasn't so much in his actions when she picked up on it; the giveaway was his tone, proving that whether the stranger had feelings for him or not, didn't matter to him at all. She soon nodded and shifted her attention back to the assignment. Pulling out a couple, Molly held one up. "You mean something like this?"

"Precisely," he replied, taking it from her. "If you find any more place them over there." Sherlock pointed to the right side of the boxes and continued searching. They soon finished going through the boxes, leaving a reasonable pile on the floor.

"What exactly does all of this tell us?" Molly questioned, skimming through an article. The crimes were alike, but what was it that connected them? She was sure he knew and like always kept it to himself until the last minute.

"Looks like there really are two people," Sherlock revealed, with a spark of interest, seeming to go around her question. After visiting the homes of the most recent victims, he had a feeling there was more than just one person involved. "Obviously they left a pretty clean trail; either way this brings us a step closer to finding out who they are."

Molly turned towards him, tilting her head to the side. "How did you figure all that out? Didn't your brother only mention one person?" He was bright, there's no doubt about it and his ability to see what other didn't was impressive. She could just sit there all day watching him work; Molly was more attributed to being on the sidelines since he never asked her to do much in the past.

"Essentially that's what we both thought, until my Homeless Network dug a bit deeper. One commits the murders the other handles the money and the reason for the newspapers, just another thing to prove my point. She wants people to know they exist." As he went to grab a paper, his movement stopped. "Why do cats like to lie on anything you put on the ground? Can you do something about him?"

With a small sight directed towards Toby, Molly lifted him up and placed him on her lap. "Sorry, about that. I guess he wants to be around people more since he doesn't have to hide from a dog. You were saying?"

He went right back to business and pointed out a specific section before passing it over to her. "As you can see on the newspaper the articles written are more like praising, in subtle context while cited anonymously. Unmistakably the woman involved is writing them, you can tell by the format used, it also proves whoever they are, they're rich enough to bribe the companies to keep their names out. Even the paper that came out a few days ago had something in it, but it wasn't on the front. As Mycroft suspected, they were trying to keep this problem low-key."

"So you were able to make that connection because the victim was murdered at the same time the money was being transferred, he couldn't have done them both at once." And that made sense, didn't it? While Sherlock looked into the older scenarios, he was able to find a link. Just another reason he detective skills were so widely known.

"Yes, your autopsies were enough to clear that part up. Now for the reason. Our killer is on a slaughter spree and siphoning money with a goal in mind. Perhaps it has something to do with revenge, maybe they're trying to get back at those who they felt wronged them," he explained, while bringing his hands together. "The rich tend to make many enemies amongst their own."

"Even if that is what's going on, how do we narrow the number down and catch them?" That was indeed the most difficult and dangerous part of the operation, especially since he had to stay out of the press, which Sherlock would likely be spotted by a member of the media if he approached homes belonging to a higher classed member of society.

"We'll make a comprised list and go from there. We could interrogate whoever published the articles but that would likely tip them off, they're going to be loyal after all. If I can get ahold of Lestrade he can pull up some records for me. Then we wait." Standing he took hold of his cell and typed out a quick text.

Molly stood up as well, glancing at the mess on the floor. "Shouldn't we clean this up?" According to Mrs. Hudson, he always left things lying around. It wasn't a bother, considering the fact that is wasn't her place to criticize.

"Leave it, I might need them later." He waved it off before stepping onto his chair and lowering down into a sitting position. The assignment was starting to come together, but he needed more information than that. It seemed like relying on Greg was about all he could do for now, although he much rather finish it as soon as possible.

Molly headed towards the kitchen with Toby at her feet, taking hold of a can of food she placed on the counter earlier. "Where do you keep the can opener?" she asked, not wanting to rummage through his things looking for it.

"Drawer closest to the fridge," he told her, while reading the reply he received. "Lestrade said he need more time to get permission to collect their files. That's hours gone to waste, he should just take them." A small huff was made as nothing could be done at the moment.

Just as she finished placing the food on a separate plate, since the can opener he had left sharp edges, Molly turned to face him. Annoyance was detectable across his features but he was calm as well. Sherlock seemed to be very good at keeping his emotions intact, from what she could tell. "What do you normally do at this point?"

His head tilted the slightest bit. He hadn't even had the foresight to try and think of what he was going to do once the case drove him into a corner such as this or when things settled down. It just hit him right now. He was here with her alone and would be for perhaps several days, excluding work. His mind went blank in the matter of a few seconds. He was already having a hard time dealing with whatever was going on inside of him, this wasn't helping matters.

Of course, his silence caused her to look at him with concern. Her brown orbs could drill right through his unease, he had no line of defense other than keeping his distance, but she always saw right through it just the same. He needed to think of something else besides the case to occupy his time. He couldn't remember having to try and keep her at arm's length before, normally she didn't affect him like this.

As nothing else was said, she realized he was staring off in one direction for a while. After having a mini debate with herself about it, the brunette approached the detective. "Sherlock, are you okay?"

Her hand was softly placed on his shoulder, which caused him to suddenly jump up, attempting to avoid contact. However, his action proved to be worse off as he was now standing close to her. "I'm fine." His voice is a bit stiff as he replied. "I just remembered, there's something else I need to take care of." Escape was his best way out; in fact it was the only thing he could think of.

He absolutely hated how he couldn't withstand the feelings he received when next to her, mostly because part of him wanted them to remain. At an attempt to leave, he rushed past her only to stop once the can she was holding hit the ground. He was so desperate to go; he didn't realize he banged right into her shoulder. It merely took him a second to take notice of the small cut on her hand.

Sherlock swallowed and let out a heavy breath. Due to him wanting to avoid his own realizations and perhaps growing affection for Molly, he ended up hurting her. That was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'm sorry." His tone, usually strong and held in confidence, was weaker, almost too quiet to hear.

"It's fine, it's not deep or anything, only stings a little. I can manage on my own if you really have to go." She didn't want him to. She wanted him to stay, to be close. But like always she expected him push away and head out the door like he normally would. Surprisingly, he didn't, instead he brought her over to the sink and turned on the water.

"Rinse the blood off, I'll be right back," he told her before disappearing into the bathroom, coming out a minute later. "I guess it's not all that shocking I don't have bandages. Just put some pressure on it, since the cut only a flesh wound it will heal fine on its own." He took hold of her injured hand and placed a small towel over the area, lightly holding it there, despite telling her to do so.

She saw a change in his eyes, his actions as well. Sherlock's fingers, although rough and slightly calloused, were gently grasping her hand and his orbs were so filled with so much… she couldn't even find a word to describe exactly what she saw in them. Her brown hues were pulled towards his face, which looked like a mix between two different emotions.

Since he didn't draw away yet, Molly spoke up. "Don't take this the wrong way but it's like you're afraid to get close to people." Taking a risk, she placed her free hand on top of his. "It's okay to let someone in and it doesn't have to be me. I can tell something's wrong. I don't know what or whether it's good or bad, regardless I'll listen. I'll even back off if that's what you want."

He blinked a few times, reduced speechless yet again by Molly Hooper. He wanted to say he didn't need help that she was wrong yet the words didn't come out. Sherlock didn't pull away from her touch, it felt warm and welcoming, both sensations he though were lost to him. "I… Everything's fine."

She knew he wasn't being truthful, but kept her lips pressed shut. They were just there with one another and she wanted more than anything to remain close like this, with the only guy she really desired to be with.

Sherlock glanced at her, the proximity causing his throat to go dry. "Thinking about it now, I should probably get something to put on that. I shouldn't be gone long," he mentioned, in a withheld voice. Almost regrettably, he slid his hands away from hers. The movement was slow considering the injury, but also because there was a part of him that didn't want to let go.

A frown tugged her lips down as he hurried away and out the door. The moment, no matter how tender, was fleeting. He was trying to get away from whatever had a hold on him, she could see that much. Perhaps he left because she was right and he was closing off more than normal.

Sighing, she placed the towel back on and leaned against the counter. Ever a mystery, Sherlock was proving to be more of a complex puzzle. Backing off might be the best course to take on this one, but something told her not to give up just yet. She'd give him the space her sought to have while still trying to understand. It was odd to see that kind of reaction from him, almost as if he was afraid or maybe that wasn't the correct term to use.

For some reason, she was getting the feeling that she was the cause of whatever was going on. It was pointless to pounder about but if she really was the one at fault, how could she find out for sure? Sherlock wasn't going to say anything. Molly supposed she'd just have to wait and see how he was when he came back. From the look on his face, the brunette figured he'd be back shortly, but leave again.

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><p><strong>Next chapter will be less focused on the case and more centered on gaining progress on Sherlock and Molly's relationship. I just needed to get to a few things out of the way before that could happen. I'm going to have to come up with some kind of situation where Sherlock can't keep leaving. He can't avoid her forever. And I think I already have something in mind, so until next time please leave a review.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Finally got around to posting this chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, I think it's the most I've received so far. I love hearing feedback, so keep them coming. Some definite progress will be happening soon, still trying to make sure it's not too much at one time though, which can be a bit difficult. Enjoy the chapter!**

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><p>The sound of music filled the room for hours the next day. Sherlock picked up his bow and violin and hadn't put it down since he woke up. Molly didn't mind the melody or hearing it for this long, it was just the fact that they hardly said anything to one another after he came back yesterday. She could endure the silence just fine, but it was the look in his eyes that troubled her.<p>

She felt wrong interrupting him, so she spend her time doing other things such as skimming through the paper to see how many places were available and even headed out for a little while to pick up a few things. Sherlock didn't keep a lot of food in the kitchen, as he apparently didn't eat all that much and wouldn't when working on a case. She wasn't very surprised to see a few body parts, fingers, toes even, stored away in the fridge. Molly was aware they were used for experiments but if she knew where he was keeping everything she gave him, she would have at least kept them in the morgue until they were needed.

Regardless, they now had enough groceries packed within the kitchen for a couple of days. The brunette found it interesting that playing the instrument helped him think, she would have thought it was the opposite way, that concentrating on hitting the right note would distract his thoughts. As impressed by his skills as she was, Molly figured he'd be stopping soon but it seemed like he was intent on going until he resolved whatever was keeping his attention.

He was positioned near the window, gazing out at the street every so often. Her eyes were on him for a moment, watching his movement. It was a captivating thing to behold, seeing his deep absorption, hearing the lovely tune take over the flat. Not wanting him to catch hold of her gaze she somewhat reluctantly altered her orbs until they landed on her cat.

Toby was fast asleep on his chair, curled up into a small ball. Molly smiled a bit at that. Sherlock didn't seem to mind letting him sit there at all, although she was sure he'd shoo him away if he wanted to use it.

Molly then frowned a bit, realizing that he hadn't had one meal today or yesterday. After some small debate with herself, the brunette decided to approach him. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder, wearing an apologetic smile for interrupting. "I know you're probably going to say no, but I figured I'd ask if you want something to eat anyway."

Sherlock swung his instrument to his side, tilting his head towards her. "Maybe later," Sherlock replied, not wanting to turn down the offer completely. His lips curved upward a bit but soon his head lowered as he suddenly started moving. He walked past her and further into the room before facing her again. A wave of remorse hit him once her wrapped injury was seen. "How's your hand? Again, I am sorry about that."

She played with one of the frayed edges of the bandage, keeping her gaze averted, his tone weighing heavily down on her. She didn't want him to feel bad, it was an accident. After a moment, she turned to look at him. In his eyes she found comfort, but also guilt, a pain so raw it made her want to take back coming over to ask him a question in the first place.

He tried to hide his emotions, Molly knew that but he couldn't shadow them from everyone. Mycroft could pick him apart and yet he was always looking out for his younger brother despite the detective's annoyance on the matter. John was his best friend, the person who kept him balanced. And what exactly did she do for him? Whatever she could whether it was asked or not. Sherlock was never good as admitting he needed help.

"Really, it's okay. Like I said before, it's not deep," she finally replied. She tried to keep her voice steady, though she wasn't sure if he could detect the slight wave of disquiet in them, which was on his behalf not her own. Shifting almost uncomfortably under his stare, her fingers were brought to her lips. "Do you have any plans for today, concerning the case, I mean?"

His head rose up, realizing why she changed the subject. Maybe he was grateful for it, but his concern for her still rested. The look on his face softened, yet he attempted to maintain his usual expression. "No, Lestrade said he needs more time. I guess I have nothing else to do than think of a few things on my own. I can't really do much without more details though."

Her gaze flickered back down to the ground, before she let out a subtle sigh. She knew those eyes of his were reading her reaction, picking up on every small impassive action made. But she recognized that look on his face all too well, often donning one herself when dealing with demanding people or working got to be too much. He was very stressed out, although she could only pick up on half of the problem.

"Maybe you should take a break from all this work, you've been at it for days now," she suggested, hoping he'd agree. Molly ambled toward him, stopping a few feet away. "I'm sure your brother won't mind." And even if he did it's not like he'd know, besides working too much wasn't good for anyone and Sherlock tended to overdo it at times.

He canted his head, taking a second to mull it over. As of right now he couldn't stop the next killing without the needed information and if he was calculating right, which he was, they still had a while before anything would happen. So, maybe he should settle with her proposal, granted it left one simple question. "And what would you suggest doing instead?"

"Well, I was just wondering and you don't have to if you don't want to but…" Molly started to say as she approached the table, lightly plucking the strings of the musical instrument he placed down a few moments ago. "I've always wanted to know how to play the violin." Really she became interested after hearing him play the first time, but for now she'd keep that to herself.

"Oh," he replied, pausing for a second. He wasn't expected that, then again she stated before how fond she was of the sound. Sherlock decided if it was just for a little while, he could afford letting some of his walls fall and let whatever feelings he was dealing with settle. "I suppose I could teach you some of the basics. It's not exactly something that takes a few hours to master."

Her brows arched slightly in surprise, she didn't really anticipate him saying okay so quickly. "I don't expect to know everything in one day. Are you sure you don't mind?" She couldn't suppress her smile as much as she would have liked, but doing anything with him made her happy. Maybe that was why she always dropped whatever she was doing just to help him.

Sherlock suppressed the urge to lower his voice to match hers, it was almost instinctive reaction. However, he wanted to make it clear to her that she didn't have to be so uneasy around him. In the back of his head, he vaguely wondered if he was doing the same thing, being on edge that is. What was it that kept drawing him closer? In her presence he felt a form of solace, when his mind didn't feel so sporadic.

It would be easy to fall under whatever spell she had over him but he couldn't afford a moment of weakness. That's not how Sherlock was, he was logical, decisive, and cunning, he didn't need those types of feelings. Pushing them away never seemed to work, in retrospect they came back worse every time. Rather than focusing on anything remotely related, he put on a small smile, almost managing to keep his tone and voice even. "It's really not a problem."

Molly bit down on her lip, giving a slight nod. She heard all the rumors of his cold attitude but never believed them to be true, moments like this proved them all wrong. To see him almost awkwardly fumbling over something so simple made him seem more human than he probably wanted. Honestly, it made him look better in her eyes, proved he had all the qualities she already knew he possessed.

"First we'll begin with how to hold the bow," he mentioned, handing it to her. He couldn't help but be slightly amused at her reaction. It was fairly obvious she never even attempted to pick up a violin before. "Start by gently laying the middle part of your index finger on the grip, the slightly padded part of the stick, which is a few inches above the tightening knob. Place the tip of your pinky on the flat part of the stick near the base, keeping it slightly curved."

She closed her eyes for a moment, telling herself to concentrate, which was difficult to do with him so close. Molly did as he instructed, a bit unsure if she got it right and she also had to be mindful of the bandage on her hand, although she doubted this would do any harm. It looked so simple when he played, almost as if it came second nature to him. "Like this?"

"Relax more, you hand should be loose," he explained, moving in front of her. She was tense and since she kept directing her gaze away he knew it was because of him rather than the idea of playing the instrument. "And don't let your palm touch the bow this reduces the control you have over the movement that becomes gradually important as you increase your skills."

"Maybe you should switch your profession to violin instructor," she lightly joked. Molly felt her nervousness getting better of her. His deep tone always caused a shiver to run down her spine. These things were nothing new to endure but the felt different each moment, like when you first talk to the person you have a crush on. Taking a breath, the brunette released her grip.

"There's no fun in that. I'd go stir-crazy without a good murder to solve," he replied. Taking the instrument in his hands, he decided to show her this part. "When it comes to holding the violin you also don't need a tight grip. It's not that complicated, just rest the lower back of it on your collar bone and holds it in place with your jaw. This will stop it from sliding off your shoulder." Pulling it away from himself, he passed it over to her. "Now you try."

Holding onto the wooden instrument, she attempted to do as he did. With her gaze directed away she could no longer see him, but she could hear the sound of his breathing and as much as that calmed her it also threw her off kilter a bit. "I'm not doing it right, am I?" Molly asked, letting her shoulders fall. Her mind kind of blanked on what he showed her.

Without saying anything he came around and repositions her hands for her. At the contact he was reminded of last night, it was the softness of her skin that brought back the words she said. He was afraid to get close to people, but probably for a different reason than people expected. He pushed others away and only let in a few but it was never all the way. Something always stopped him.

Sherlock felt himself somewhat relax being so near, his tense muscles uncoiled as he tried his hardest not to let himself be taken over by his emotions, the things he wanted to believe he had control over. In spite of his racing thoughts, he managed to remain composed; after all he was used to being in situations that got his adrenalin rushing. However, he wasn't in a life threating situation. It was just him and Molly in the security of his flat.

He took a shallow breath before speaking. "Since you never played before, your hand should be as far up the neck as possible while still allowing your pointer finger to come down on the fingerboard." Sherlock lightly directed her small digits to the right place. "With more practice you'll learn to glide your hand up and down to reach higher notes quickly."

She felt his arms slowly come around her and in that moment, she felt the safest she had felt in so long it made her want to stay this way. It was as if she couldn't get enough, not of his eyes, of his voice, of his words, of his laughter, of his touch. Her cheeks were stained a bright red causing her to stutter, affecting her ability to keep her voice level. "W-Who knew there were so many wrong ways to hold a violin?"

"It's a lot more complicated than it looks." He couldn't bring herself to raise his tone above a low murmur. When he released his hold, she turned her head the slightest amount. It was then he realized how close they actually were. A sudden thought flashed through his mind, he faintly pondered what it'd be like to kiss her, if she'd even allow it.

The deep pounding if his heart was felt and the silence of the room intensified the sound. If he noticed and paid attention to every move he made toward her, he would have made sure to keep a certain amount of distance, but concentration soon became a lost concept when Molly was around. He took a small breath, all of it was too much, and yet, in contraction, not enough.

Forcing himself to take a step back, he remained quiet. Kissing her had never crossed his mind in the past. Was it being so near to her face that caused it? Either way, it was another thing that would continue to nag at him now. The best thing to do was act like nothing happened, pretend like he wasn't starting to feel something more for her, because he came to a quick consensus that, based on the past few days, he was.

Sherlock brought his hands together, putting some more distance prior to speaking. "Now when it comes to actually playing the strings, the flat side of the bow should be placed on the hair approximately halfway between the bridge and the fingerboard, so that it's directly over the front. Then you just pull the bow along the string as straight as you can, parallel to the bridge, applying a small amount of pressure."

Molly gave a slight nod, barely able to bring herself out of what happened. The way a simple step forward caused such a response from him, the fact that she caught it even though it was so subtle, like a simple parting of his lips or look in his eyes, made her change her mind about saying a word about it, resisting until he wanted otherwise, which she knew in every possible way would never happen. But she cared too much about him to ask, the brunette didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. She received the message a long time ago, Sherlock wasn't interested in her. His work was what he dedicated himself to.

Regardless of how she felt and since she was pretty good at ignoring her feelings by now, Molly did as he said and dragged the bow across the strings. The sound was a bit strained, triggering a small frown to appear on her face. "That was really awful. You can obviously tell I never played before." She pressed her lips together, stopping herself from going on a nervous ramble.

Once he settled back down, Sherlock was able to at least maintain his normal way of speaking. "Just lighten up a bit and go slower. It's not like you have to get it right the first time you try. Not everyone is a prodigy," he added to try and lighten up the situation. He could see it on her expression, from the way she was looking at him, she felt something as well.

"And you were?" she asked almost warily. In all likelihood he probably was. "You're pretty much good at everything, so I wouldn't be surprised." She didn't technically mean to say that out loud, but she knew he wouldn't take it offensively, not when it was such a light comment. Holding back the need to say anything further, she glanced in his direction.

"Well, I wouldn't say everything," Sherlock replied with a suppressed smile. "You seem more suitable for the work you do at the morgue, not that you can't do other things…" Noticing the slight fumble of his words, he paused, letting a few seconds of silence pass before continuing. "That probably could have come out better. I'm sure you'll get better with practice."

She shook her head, waving a hand at him. "Oh no, really, that was… nice. Though I guarantee you I won't be anywhere near your level anytime soon." She turned away and pursed her lips. Talking to him wasn't the difficult part. It was strange how things could feel so settled between them. She knew a few years back all he needed from her was access to bodies and spare parts if an experiment was essential.

Over time things changed, although seeming insignificant at the start. He came to her when he required help, although he kind of expected it without asking. There were a few times he would randomly show up in her bedroom, using it as one of his places to think. Molly didn't mind, he just surprised her the first time. She never really bothered him when he was there, understanding that he was working on a case.

It was even less often that he came over because he needed to rest, but she had stumbled upon him fast asleep on multiple occurrences. It was never something they talked about or even mentioned, but she was happy she was one of the people he trusted. Molly only felt like she didn't count because he would act rather dismissive towards her and a bit rude. She always felt so small in that big world of his.

Still, her feelings never disappeared. Sherlock's two year absence apparently didn't do anything to make them fade away. The moment he showed up at Bart's it felt like no gap existed, like he wasn't gone. But she moved on with Tom or at least she supposed she did. Her heart still ached on the thought of hurting him. She honestly didn't mean to and the fact that he let her go so she could be happy was the most painful part.

If anything, she knew Sherlock appreciated honesty. He could take the truth in stride. Molly admired him for that and so much more. But she had to wonder if he was actually aware of how she felt, he could pick up on so many things but was this one of them? And if he did notice was he ignoring them? It was hard to say, but like always, she tried not to think much of it.

"I'm sure we could go over notes and all those other things another time, it's not necessary right now to know them all. How about you give it another go, just remember to be gentle with the bow," Sherlock said after a few moments. He didn't fully understand why he was starting to trip over his words, but that was a problem for another day.

She nodded and kept trying. They continued for a while, until she was able to get a few of them correctly. Once Molly was able to keep the same amount of pressure on the strings the rest came pretty easily. She was pleasantly surprised at how patient he could be, it was a nice side of him to see, although she knew it was always there just never out in the open as it should be.

After they both decided that was good enough for today, Molly handed him the instrument and he placed it back where it belonged. "If you want to keep learning, it wouldn't be a bother. It's up to you though." It was a simple way of doing something for her after everything she's done for him in the past. It didn't exactly add up because Molly went out of her way all the time for him, but it was something. And her company was always welcomed.

Her gaze snapped to his, brows furrowed slightly as she was caught off guard by his suggestion. She searched for some sort of smile, a glint in his eyes to let her know he was teasing, joking even, only to come up short. "I-" What should she say? Obviously the brunette wanted more than anything to give a quick yes, but she remained calm despite herself. "Okay, I would like that, when you have free time of course."

He acknowledged her reply with a small smile. "It all depends on the case I'm working on. Either way, we'll figure something out." Maybe it was just a way to keep her coming over once she moved out. Weird, he never felt like he needed an incentive to see her, Molly was always at Bart's and he went there for just about anything. Sherlock shrugged it off and went back into the main room.

Molly watched his movement, wondering what it would be like to be in an actual relationship with him. Would it be similar to this or something utterly different? She wanted to ask if he ever had a girlfriend before, but it was too much of a personal thing to question him about. Besides, she could rightfully assume he never went out with someone; the detective was far too indulged in his work.

What were the chances of him suddenly wanting to date her anyway? Letting out a sigh, her gaze dropped to the floor. She could hope that someday he might change his mind but she was being too ambitious for her own good. Moreover, she couldn't wait around for him forever. But if there was the slightest bit of hope, perhaps waiting wouldn't be so bad.

She was being foolish though. Too much in love with him to believe she had no opportunity. If he ever flatly told her there was no way anything was going to happen between them, that he didn't care for her like she did for him, it might be easier to let go, but this, what they had right now just felt like a never ending loop. Molly was grateful for his friendship and his trust. Those two things were enough. And as long as he knew she'd always be there when he sought help and that was more than she could ask for.

Sherlock paused for a second, bringing his hands together, remembering what Molly said to him earlier. Although food normally slows down his thinking process, which could be bothersome, she was right. Not having a meal, or at least a whole one, for the past few days wasn't exactly the smartest move. Nonetheless, he was quite used to the lack of nutrition by now.

He took a few steps towards her, debating on whether or not to say anything. He could admit spending time with Molly like this was different than he expected. It was easy yet difficult at the same time, too contradicting to ponder about. When he caught her eyes his rational side slipped from him and he found himself speaking without being able to stop.

"I actually could go for something to eat right now. Fancy some fish and chips? At the place I mentioned before, right off of Marylebone Road," Sherlock mentioned, avoiding her gaze halfway through his question. "And I hope you don't mind making a quick stop to see Lestrade on the way back, I've been meaning to speak with him since he hasn't gotten back to me yet. It would be so much simpler if he'd reply to my texts."

"The one who always gives you extra portions just because you put up some shelves for the owner? Since we didn't go the last time you offered, sure," Molly replied, knowing it would probably be a fast stop but she didn't care all that much. "I haven't seen Greg in a while, so it would be nice to catch up," she added for good measure. They haven't really spoken much since John and Mary's wedding, only a few words here and there were exchanged.

"Might as well head out now," Sherlock said while grabbing his coat and scarf. Once they were on in his normal fashion they left the flat. Leaving like this was probably more of an excuse than anything else. Being alone with her was proving to be more problematic than he originally anticipated. Having other people around might clear away some of the unease.

If it didn't then he still had a couple of problems to figure out. It would be better if he could just drop all the emotions that were clouding his judgment. One way or another he had to do something about this. Maybe somehow figure out a way to make things go back to normal, when his feelings weren't running haywire every time he was with her. But what could he do? Was it even possible?

Then again he could be going about this all wrong. Perhaps the best thing to do was let it run its course and hope for the best. No, that left too many what ifs. He was rarely at a loss of what to do when a problem presented itself. Normally an answer was already there, inside his mind palace. Love, affection, romance, those were not things he kept stored. The concept and ability to see it in others, those were known but to feel them himself and so suddenly? That was something that never happened before.

"How often do you go there?" Molly asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. A cab just pulled up as she questioned him. There was something about the way he was acting that threw her off some. He was being a bit odd when around her, but she assumed it was for various reasons. The youngest Holmes wasn't exactly the easiest person to figure out, especially when he purposely distanced himself.

"According to him, not enough," he automatically said back. "It's been a while so I'm sure he'll be happy to see I've brought company. John has only been there once when we were on a case close by and we had to leave soon after." He figured whatever he was going through had to be dealt with soon. Even as he sat next to her in the taxi, he could feel his senses getting the better of him.

Molly went on talking but his mind was only half listening. It was getting worse, he could tell. Every passing day something he hadn't felt before would come along and confuse him all over again. Sherlock came to the conclusion that something would have to be done; he just needed to come up with a few ideas, which would be easier to do if he wasn't drawing a blank on the matter.

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><p><strong>I would just like to say I have no idea how to play the violin and had to use Google, so if I'm wrong about anything blame the internet. Other than that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and John will finally be in the next one. I think he and Mary have been gone long enough. Please review and let me know what you thought.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Am I the only one who felt like this week took forever? Days just seemed to drag on but I was able to finish the chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I'm happy to know so many people are enjoying my story, I was a little unsure about putting it up in the first place.**

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><p>After sending a multitude of texts, Sherlock drummed his fingers impatiently on the small table placed by his chair. It was early in the morning; the sun barely colored the sky a light shade of blue and no one could be seen walking the streets. Cars could be heard passing by but other than that, it was quiet. The detective glanced over at the clock, which read three A.M., and let out a small breath.<p>

Molly was still fast asleep; at least he assumed so since she hadn't left the room. Toby was curled up into a small ball on the couch, not seeming to mind his quick and disruptive movement when pacing about every now and again. An exasperated sigh fled his lips before he swiped out his phone once more and thumbed his fingers across the keys, leaving yet another message.

By the time he got to his feet, a reply finally came. Once the short response was read through the youngest Holmes rubbed his temples, attempting to rid himself of the small headache slowly making its way across his eyes. It was needless to say he hadn't gotten any sleep; on the other hand, he hadn't even bothered to try. His mind was centered on the single aspect he thought he'd never have to deal with. But the brunette was clearly wearing him down to the point where he had to do something about it before he went stir-crazy.

The worst part was she wasn't even trying. Irene Adler was one thing but Molly Hooper brought the concept of affection to a whole new level. He remembered the way The Woman, as he commonly addressed her, would look at him. It wouldn't be wrong to accuse her for falling for him even though it was not returned. She stumped him and he was, in a sense, drawn to her intelligence but love was never a part of it on his end.

All emotions similar, including that one in particular, were unnecessary and a bit ambiguous to his remotely indifferent yet admirably intelligent mind of his. Although he could make the most complicated puzzles look trivial and simple, had a good sense of reason, and was able to pick up on the smallest details by mere observation, he was in no way able to take on the role of a boyfriend. He would have placed himself in a false position saying otherwise. Love, commitment, they weren't who he was and everyone knew that. Sherlock defined himself by his work, nothing else.

Any forms of romantics were foreign ideas. However, Molly seemed to be testing that theory of his, making him question and linger on the concept. Sherlock decided long ago he didn't need any of it, but it hit him so suddenly. His head started reeling the moment he laid eyes on the girl. He didn't want to hurt her, cause more pain to befall the brunette but he wasn't going to give in so readily.

When the door finally opened, revealing the army doctor, the consulting detective simply tilted his head, mimicking the 'what took you so long' look. The tiredness tailing John's features were noticeable, as where the creases lining his shirt which showed the slight rush he made while leaving his home. His hair was a tad unruly, obviously because he just rolled out of bed.

"Okay, what is so important that I just had to come over?" John asked, in a slightly elevated and worn-out voice while rubbing an eye with his fingers. The door was shut behind him before he walked into the room some more. He pulled out his cell, going through the last few texts and read them out loud. "You said it was an emergency, to come right away, something about my honeymoon and rambling on about that for a while before you continued to mention how you needed me here as soon as possible. I swear if it's something about a case… you could have waited until a more reasonable hour."

Sherlock could clearly see aggravation coloring his expression, but decided to ignore it. He waved his hand a few times prior to making a gesture about keeping his tone at a softer level. The last thing he wanted was Molly coming out. "First of all, lower your voice and second… I need to ask you something," he mentioned, trying to sound somewhat considerate, although failing miserably.

Crossing his arms, John shifted his position a few times, taking a pause before being able to speak. "So, let me get this straight, you called me over here, at three in the morning might I add, to ask me a question?" Really, he expected no less but hoped he would have been at least a bit more understanding of how tired both he and his wife were. Then again, he knew better.

The detective raised a brow and pursed his lips for a few seconds, mulling over what was just said. "Yes, why is that unreasonable?" His hands came together as he picked up on how the irritation on his face dwindled down a bit.

"Mary and I were asleep. We just got back a few hours ago," the man explained in a calmer voice than before. Letting out a slow breath, John took a moment to gaze about the room, getting the feeling that something felt a bit off. It didn't take him long to realize a certain piece of furniture was missing. "Where's my chair?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the inquiry, more annoyed at the fact that he was simply getting distracted by unnecessary details. Keeping the explanation short and to the point, he motioned outward, hoping to get back on track soon. "Kitchen. View. Blocked. Now, John-"

"You got a cat?" he asked, interrupting his friend. Bewilderment layered his face once the furry animal was spotted resting on the sofa. Visibly something was off if he now had a pet. Even from his current actions and responses he could single out a minor few changes. However, there was no way he could directly pinpoint the reason. They haven't seen one another for a while but he didn't anticipate him to be like this, sort of… he couldn't really find the right word to describe him.

"No, he belongs to Molly. But that's not important," he insisted. Noticing how the doctor started opening his mouth to speak again, presumably about to ask why the cat was here and probably other things related, he let out a not so subtle hum of annoyance. "Focus, John! I know you have the intention span of a child but can you keep your attention on the question I am trying to ask you?"

"Certainly didn't miss the insults," he murmured, while shaking his head back and forth. Deciding it was best to drop his curiosity, he let his hands slip to his sides and settled back to his normal level of composure. "Okay, yeah, fine. What is it?"

Sherlock became a tad quiet, trying to figure of the best was to go about this without leading John to believe there was more to it. He didn't technically want his friend to be aware of his conflictions. There was no need for it and more importantly, he knew he'd never hear the end of it. There was no easy way to go around it though. Taking a small step back, he uncharacteristically rubbed the back of his neck.

"How did you know you were… how should I put this?" He didn't want to say the wrong thing. Glancing away for a few seconds, he finally settled on a term that might be good enough to get his point across. "Feelings. How did you know you had feelings for Mary? Or any of the other girls you dated and whatnot," he added, almost muttering the last sentence.

"Why?" John asked rather slowly. That was the last thing he expected him to ask. He canted his head almost suspiciously. He didn't actually consider Sherlock's question was regarding himself. It made no sense, but when the words were spoken out loud they seemed almost strained. He unconsciously scanned their surroundings again, noticing his tense posture.

Sherlock almost wanted to tell him to forget about it. But in a desperate need to do something about his growing affections for Molly, he quickly decided to continue. "Humor me," the detective replied dryly.

Finally he resolved, from previous accounts, this must have something to do with a case. After all, he's known Sherlock for a long time and he never once showed interest in anyone and specifically told him so early on. "It's not something you can really explain. It's… You just know."

"Wow, John, that was so helpful. I knew I shouldn't have bothered." He sat down on his seat, bringing his hands to his chin, faintly letting some disquiet show. This whole thing was eating away at him. The intensity of his heartbeat, the yearning to be close, none of those things would leave when she was with him. Molly was all he could really think about and how, despite the short length of time he's been enduring this, the way his life was, how she could possibly feel anything for someone so cold and distant.

The things he saw, the way he treated people, both separated him from others. The brunette may act tolerable with the way he was, but he wasn't sure she could ever be okay with being surrounded by his indifference constantly. He was trapped by his own actions, in his own world, which may seem a bit dark. How does one truly get used to the darkness?

"What is going on with you?" John asked, crossing his arms. Something wasn't adding up and knowing Sherlock, he wouldn't say anything unless questioned. "You look like you haven't slept at all and even if you are working on a job normally you're not so, well, like that."

After going through some scenarios in his mind, he suddenly jumped up from his seat. He realized with a small jolt of intrigue that he has felt similar things pulling him down before, when he needed help and turned to Molly. Different circumstances, yes, but it seemed loneliness, swirling emotions, they followed no matter what. And maybe if someone else knew it wouldn't weigh down on him so heavily.

Although rare, Sherlock choose to come right out and say what was bothering him. Approaching John, he pulled him a bit to the side and kept his voice low, again being mindful of how close the brunette was. "I may have developed some… feelings for Molly." Backing up a few steps, he watched as the puzzlement descended upon his friend's features.

"You're kidding, right?" John asked with a wavering countenance. When he made no further remark and his stoic face stayed, John ran his hand through his hair in a lopsided manner. "Are you talking about the Molly Hooper that works at Bart's? The girl you've ignored, embarrassed on multiple accounts, been rude to constantly, and pretty much got her to help you fake your own death? That Molly Hopper?"

That girl would do anything for Sherlock. She even went out of her way to let him and Mycroft into the morgue on Christmas. It was evident upon their first meeting how much she admired and revered the detective. Molly was the first person John ever heard him apologize to, she made him seem more humanized in a sense but he never expected the youngest Holmes to hold any affection towards her. Yet, in a way, it would explain his odd behavior.

"Will you relax, John?" he said after the swarm of questions. Perhaps seeing his friend in such an erratic manner caused him to act calmer. However, on the inside the slight drop of his stomach was still there and his minor headache remained.

"I think I just need a moment to settle into this," the army doctor announced, taking a seat on the couch. He took a heavy breath, contemplating what was said. It still didn't seem to fit. He knew Sherlock wasn't incapable of caring for someone, noticeably because of his fondness towards Mrs. Hudson, but this was on a different level. "Molly Hooper?" he asked again, still sounding astonished.

"Yes, and you don't have to keep using her full name, we only know one Molly." Sherlock paced for a few steps, already getting the feeling that this wasn't a good idea. He knew John would be inquisitive and all that, yet he hoped he'd say something useful instead of repeating the same thing over and over again. Letting out a sigh, he faced his friend. "And by the way, you're not helping at all," he added, a bit irritated.

"It's pretty simple," he mentioned, after somewhat relaxing into the concept. "If you feel that way then just tell her. I would think you'd be able to figure out that much on your own." Funnily enough, he was acting downright irrational, which was unusual but not entirely strange to see. Half the time it was easier just going with what he said instead of asking.

Sherlock abruptly threw his hand about in a precarious manner, letting out a complaint. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said. I want to know how you make these feeling, or whatever you want to call them, go away." He plopped down on his chair, ruffling his curls of hair before glancing towards John. "You know what, just forget I said anything. Delete it."

"But I thought… Sherlock, you're not making any sense. Well, you hardly do but this is ridiculous." Turning his attention to the floor, he closed his eyes for a few seconds. It was hard to say anything at all and being thrown so much information at once was a tad overwhelming, considering the topic. "You must be aware of how she feels about you."

Of course he was. It was easy to pick up on the signs but if he was just going to end up hurting her in the end, it wasn't worth the effort, more importantly it wasn't fair to her. He couldn't ruin the stable level of trust because of something that might just be a fluke. "I can't just leave it at that. You know the person that I am, it won't work." His voice was strained but held at a constant volume.

"You're afraid to let her in, aren't you?" Just from the look Sherlock gave him, John realized he was right. He didn't know all that much about Molly, but it would be nice to see him actually care about someone in that way. But he couldn't push him to do anything. Dropping his hands on his lap, John shook his head. "Fine. But you can't just make them go away; it takes time to get over someone. I don't know, just stop going by Bart's as often or something."

"Brilliant solution, John," he said sarcastically. "I guess I overestimated your ability to connect things. Obviously if her cat is here so is she." The doctor's expression was once again etched in uncertainty, leading him to explain the rest of the story, although he kept it vague. "Molly ended things with whatever his name is and needed a place to stay for a few days. Really, it's not that complicated to comprehend."

He rubbed his hands over his face. There was only one reason she would break off her engagement and said reason was sitting in the same room with him. Molly stated she was over Sherlock but after meeting her former fiancé, he didn't believe it very much. Regardless, the brunette seemed intent on being with him. But now things were over and she was staying here? "It's Tom, and would you mind explaining?"

"Yes, I would. Main point. I'm not doing anything so drop it." He just needed to get them off this subject and on something else, anything that didn't involve her, or John would continue to grill him. Naturally his attention was conveyed to his job. "Since you are here, I've been working on this case and there's been this string of murders-"

"You're the one who brought it up in the first place," John interrupted, unable to change the topic so easily. He watched as Sherlock moved about the room, muttering the rest of his sentence as if he wasn't stopped, seeming to pay no attention to what he continued to say. "If you would just take the chance and tell Molly how you feel, you might actually be happy."

Once he obtained his laptop, he kept his focus on the screen. "I just said someone is killing people and you want to keep talking about that?" Pushing the Molly matter away for now, even though absolutely nothing was solved and having John know was going to cause more of a problem, Sherlock's eyes flickered between his computer and friend. "Are you going to help or continue asking silly questions?"

With an almost begrudging outtake, John came over to where he was sitting. "Just so you know, we are not done discussing this," he mentioned, crossing his arms. Sherlock simply gave him a withered look before he started to explain the details of the case. Including everything he and Molly figured out and the information Lestrade gave him after stopping by his office the previous day. Since the additional files were with them, he was sure the two of them could bring this job to a close soon.

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><p>"John, I didn't hear you come in," Molly said a bit surprised, once her eyes fell on the two of them. It has been a few hours since he arrived and she had just woken up about fifteen minutes ago. Walking into the kitchen, she nervously fiddled with her fingers, unsure of what to say. Did Sherlock mention she was here? She assumed so since he wasn't acting shocked to see her. "How's Mary?" she settled upon asking.<p>

"Well, I didn't expect to be over here as early as I was either," he replied. Actually, he didn't anticipate working on another job with the consulting detective for a while, at least until things were back to normal. But plans never seemed to last, he should be used to that by now. "She's doing alright, happy to finally be home. We both are. And Sherlock explained everything, so uh, sorry about you and Tom."

"Thank you, but it's alright. Things just weren't working out as well as we hoped." The brunette poured herself some tea, glancing into the other room before speaking. "I'm taking an earlier shift today, so I'll be back sooner than I usually am. But if you need help with anything, you know where I'll be. I can always go back if it's important."

"Just let me know if any more bodies displaying similar wounds show up." Sherlock made sure to keep his eyes off of her, fixating them on the papers he was scanning through. Since John was sitting right there, the last thing he needed was to give him an incentive to further go on about how he should tell Molly how he feels. Random comments were already thrown into the conversation and he didn't require any more.

She easily noticed his downward gaze, held as if it was almost forced. "Sherlock, can I talk to you for a moment?" Molly watched as he nodded almost stiffly prior to standing. He met her in the kitchen, making sure to keep a reasonable distance. "I wish you told me John would be here today. I don't mind, I just… is he okay with me staying? I know he doesn't live here anymore but he did for a long time and I just don't want to make him feel weird."

"Really, you don't need to be worried about that. He's fine with it and knows the situation," he explained, able to remain calm. Though he could tell that she was more high-strung than she lead him to believe. Her stance was rigidly held and her fingers gripped the cup tighter than normal. Placing a hand on her shoulder and doing it without much thought, he smiled softly. "Besides, it shouldn't be something you need to overstress about."

Molly's eyes veered away the second contact was made. "I guess it's pretty silly of me to be so concerned." When her brown orbs caught hold of his face, despite the gentler expression, she couldn't help but realize how tired he appeared to be. "Is everything okay? You look like you didn't get any sleep last night." That and he was still wearing the same thing he wore yesterday.

"I was working on the case. Time tends to get away from me when I'm busy," he replied. He took a tentative step back. He knew nothing had changed; she would always be that way towards him. Her care was always displayed and hardly hidden, but he couldn't do that. He continued to bury everything he felt, but every now and then it slipped though, whether it was presented by an upturn of his lips or an action.

"If you say so." Molly resisted showing her disappointment when his hand was pulled away. After some silence, she swallowed, wondering how to put what she wanted to say into words. It was a statement she said too much or maybe not enough, but voicing it out loud, putting it between them again, she wasn't sure if it was the best idea. "I've said this before but you know if something's bothering you, because it seems like something is, I could be wrong but I'm always here. You just take so much on and I can't imagine what a burden that could be sometimes."

He pursed his lips. It was her sweetness and attentiveness towards him that further proved he wasn't deserving of such care. He never gave anything in return and the fact that she's always given so much of herself without him asking, without him even thinking about it caused a waver in his reply. "I… appreciate it. Thank you." It wasn't a direct answer, but it was something.

Molly nodded. Gratitude didn't come from him often so it was still strange to hear and yet it warmed her heart a bit. She wasn't aware that she was technically the problem, although not in a bad way, there wasn't much else she could say. "I should get going; I don't want to be late." Backing up a few paces, Molly shifted her brown hues from him before turning and giving a short wave to John.

Once the door was closed Sherlock went back to his seat, almost rolling his eyes in slight ridicule towards himself before glancing at his friend, who looked as if he was trying to hide the slight amusement trailing his features. "Shut up," he warned him; like it was a disagreement they've already beaten to death.

"I didn't say anything," he defended, bringing his hands up in mock surrender. If he hadn't seen it for his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed Sherlock could be that considerate, if that was the right word to use, especially towards Molly when all he's ever received from their previous encounters was friendship, if he would be so bold to use the term back then.

"You didn't have to, you were thinking it. It's written all over your face," the detective replied in an argumentative manner while moving his hands about. A substantial sigh fled his lips. He realized his actions a bit too late, but he was fully conscious that John was there the whole time. He suppressed the urge to say anything further to Molly, knowing he'd have to deal with this.

"I just never saw you be so nice to anyone before," John continued to say. "You actually looked like you genuinely cared about her. So, tell me again why you saying something to her is a bad thing? Maybe if you just got off your high horse and stopped thinking of the worse possible outcome, things could actually work out between you two. You can't hide behind work forever."

"You know, for someone who just recently heard about all this, you're being extremely pushy. I told you to let it go," Sherlock insisted yet again. He was aware why John was being that way but in the end it didn't help matters. "Getting back to the case, since you seem to like going off topic so often, let's start with the things we just discovered. There's an upcoming charity event that all possible targets will be attending and our killers will be amongst them. We just need to get in and figure out who they are. Should be simple enough."

"You're overlooking one thing, we need an invitation to get past security and I highly doubt we'll be able to obtain any when the event is tomorrow night," John expressed, in a mild tone. "And before you suggest it, no, we can't sneak in. We'd never make it past all the guards unnoticed, there's way too many of them to even bother trying."

"Might as well stop straining yourself attempting to figure out a way in, I already have an idea," Sherlock said, bringing his hands together and pressing them to his mouth. "We will need four invites, one for you, me, Molly, and Mary. Then we can go over the plan, which I have already thought of four possible ways, hold on…" He paused for a second, giving the impression he was going over something in his mind. "Two possible ways to locate our murderers."

"Did you forget my wife is pregnant, she can't be going on a case with us and why involve her and Molly anyway? We normally do this on our own." Sometimes Lestrade helped, but that was only on certain occasions. He also knew the brunette had lent him a hand on this job and another in the past, so she already knew what was going on.

"We knew you'd say that. I just texted her before, she's already getting your tux dry-cleaned and will be here by the time Molly gets back from work," he replied, holding his phone up so John could see the quick conversation, although he pulled the device away too quickly for him to finish reading. "Besides, the area is too spacious. We can't do everything on our own and if it's that much of a bother, I'll make sure they don't do anything dangerous."

The army doctor rubbed his temples, knowing he couldn't change Mary's mind once it was made up. He wasn't exactly fond of the idea but as long as they stayed out of harm's way and things went according to Sherlock's plan, which he was sure would somehow work out in the end despite not hearing it yet. "Okay, but how are we going to get invitations? I don't even think you could pull something like that off."

"Must you always underestimate me? I have it handled." Swiping his phone back to up, Sherlock stood and started taking a few steps as he dialing a sequence of numbers. Bringing it to his ear, he waited a couple of seconds before speaking. "Hello, brother dear. I'm in need of a favor."

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><p><strong>I figured Sherlock would have to tell someone soon so now John knows. This chapter was pretty interesting to write, seeing as I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out. At least some progress is being made, if only he would tell Molly how he feels. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review! <strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Look who finally updated, I know it's been a while, longer than normal anyway. I've been stuck in writer's block for far too long, so I hope this chapter turned out well. Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites.**

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><p>Sherlock placed the laptop on his knees, continuing to get as much information as he possibly could on the charity event tomorrow. He could hear John, Mary, and Molly speaking with one another as his eyes scanned an article. However, the brunette's voice seemed to be the only one distracting him from working, causing him to reread a few sentences every now and again.<p>

In mild-temperament the detective tried blocking all sounds while busy and it normally succeeded but not today. It had been a long night, no sleep came which somehow prompted him to call John over at three in the morning and lead him to disclosing his feelings towards Molly. Perhaps if he instead stepped out for a while, to breath in the cold night air in order to further dispel his racing thoughts, things would be different.

His hands paused while typing on the keyboard, mind wandering yet again. It wasn't rare for him to stop and ponder on a thought, but losing his concentration, veering off track of where or what exactly he was thinking when on an important lead, that was a heedless move. And honestly, he never preferred getting distracted unless it was on something conventional or slightly on task.

Sherlock found his unconscious contemplations of Molly unwelcome ones, yet at the same time wanted them to keep playing in his mind. Her laughter never escaped him and he couldn't remember ever being so in tuned to it before, but Sherlock could always think of some excuse to push the reason away from affection. Because having feelings for someone wasn't the same as being in love, people knew that fact but often failed to recognize it.

Molly was the one who grew fond over him throughout the years or was it right away? Perhaps he was being selfish, rude even, never saying anything about her obvious attachment towards him. She tended to downplay it though, clearly because she believed him uninterested and truthfully he was. Now it just seemed unfathomable to consider a sudden spike in attentiveness, yet it was there nagging away at him daily.

Whether it was a simple or a rare chance occurrence, both were short-lived, as were his thoughts on the matter. However, recently it started bothering him more and more as the days went on. His suspicion about knowing what exactly it was he was feeling were proven when he spent more time with her, more than he ever ventured to do in the past.

It could just be his paranoia on the subject when concerning himself, his need to link things to others when in all actuality, no string existed, merely it was one of his own crafting. Sherlock realized he couldn't pinpoint the blame on Molly, it was simply something he couldn't control. In all likelihood his feelings could return to friendship but he was also mindful of the fact that they could grow into something deeper.

"Find anything else?" John asked, tilting his head upon the inquiry. "You've been staring at the screen for a long while now," he knowingly added. Sherlock's attempt to keep himself out of conversing with Molly was apparent, but it seemed like she was the only one unaware of it. Mary already had a suspicion something was up, although she didn't say anything.

"Just doing some reading and trying to find anything else that can be useful. This would be so much simpler if we could just do things my way without Mycroft's silly regulations." He offered his words without conflict, his tone simple and smooth, as he wasn't looking for another motive to give his friend to go off about what he told him earlier.

"Those 'silly regulations' as you called them are beneficial and essential to follow, brother mine," Mycroft remarked upon entering the flat, with his normal epitome of calmness etched into his features. A light smile came when seeing the company but flattened out a moment later. "I suggest if you really want these tickets you stick to what I told you, we cannot afford having this go public. Do I make myself clear?"

"As always," Sherlock mentioned with a minor roll of his eyes. Placing the computer aside, he rose from the chair and approached the man. As he moved Toby skittered past them, rushing into another room. "He doesn't seem to like you, not surprising." Turning his attention forward again, he let out a small breath, knowing his brother was going to go off on the case.

Ignoring his comment, Mycroft went on. "I take it the three of them will be joining you, obviously John since you hardly do anything without him. I am sure you're well aware that you think you know what you're doing, but keep in mind that social events such as these have the press stationed right outside. Some of the people attending have a rather high rank in the political system and we prefer to keep them free of possible slander."

"'We' as in the British Government, Secret Service or CIA? You're going to have to be a tad more specific," the detective remarked. He didn't ask anything further on the topic, deciding too many question was never a good thing to start off with, though he had always been known to be inquisitive. "You tend to over worry about the minor details. I know what I'm doing. Thanks for stopping by and I'll take those."

Mycroft pulled the tickets away, causing him to raise a brow in minor annoyance. "Remember, Sherlock, you cannot go after the culprit yourself, I just need a name. If you, however, find yourself in a difficult position where approaching is necessary then please by all means take your actions into consideration. But I still expect you to call when you find them."

He quickly noticed the calculating look in the younger's eyes, recognizing it as he oftentimes had the look himself. His brows furrowed slightly in unspoken query, his head tilting to the side. The change in the man's posture, his words, the way he spoke, all were details he picked up on right away. Something was unmistakably taking hold of his thoughts, whatever it was it was in this room, though he opted to keep that little observation to himself.

No matter how much Sherlock hated the idea of forming attachments, it was impossible not to. In retrospect, it happened no matter where you went, whether they were friends or simply acquaintances. It would certainly behoove him to be more appreciative towards those who were willing to help him out, yet that appeared to be something the two of them shared.

"Of course, dear brother, I will endeavor to do so," he replied dryly, prior to taking hold of the tickets. He didn't give much thought on the matter because he honestly didn't feel like going on about it. Instead, a light shrug was given, presenting minor care on the subject they spoke of. "But really, you mustn't be so quick to ridicule, I've handled plenty of cases without trouble."

Leaning on his umbrella, Mycroft gave him a sort of perceptive glare. "Yet, you seem to fall prey to it rather quickly. Like I stated previously, my concern for you never diminishes, it would ease me to know you'll at least attempt to stay out of conflict instead of running straight towards it." Although not normally announced, he had the habit of worrying about him as all older siblings would of the younger.

Though his care was realized, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to comment on it. They were all having a rough couple of days, work tended to weigh heavily on Mycroft especially recently. There was a slight waver in his footing and bags under his eyes to prove that, not that the eldest would speak freely of it. In the end, it didn't matter all that much, because work was work. "Is that all? I was in the middle of something," he finally said, gesturing over with a small incline of his head.

"Yes, I can see your extending you're branch of company." Even though the other three were mostly silent during their discussion, their presence wasn't overlooked. A light sigh was let out, knowing it was about time he left. "Seeing as I have an important meeting within the hour, I should be heading out. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of our agreement a second time."

"And I'm sure I don't need to remind you where the door is," he announced a moment later. His face was kept free of emotion, not needing to give him further incentive to stay. "If our murderers are at the party, which they will be, I'll be closing this case tomorrow night. As for calling, you can expect one before the event is over." For some reason he felt inclined to add those words.

"That's all I ask," Mycroft said with a nod. He proceeded to leave the room, his umbrella shifted up so it wouldn't drag on the floor. Sherlock, more often than not, always got the job done so there was no need to burden himself with unease, nonetheless it came regardless. Once out of the flat, he took out his phone, making a quick call as he left the complex.

Sherlock turned back to the others, washing away the slight irritation hanging onto his features. With that out of the way, they could get back to conversing a few more things, although they already went over the details a few times. Despite the interruption, Sherlock wanted to return to their original topic. It was easier to keep other thoughts concerning Molly out if they were busy.

"Now, since we already discussed the plan let's hope we don't run into any problems." The detective grabbed a few things before returning to the group, handing them their ticket and another object. "Each of you will need to use one of these mobiles, not your own just in case something goes wrong, when getting in contact with one another."

"And you just so happen to have four extra ones lying around the flat?" John asked, taking it from him. He was currently sitting on the couch with his wife and Molly while Sherlock occupied his chair. Normally, he'd be sitting in his own but it was still currently out of the room and most likely placed in his old bedroom for the time being. However, he wasn't sure if it would ever be back.

"He's pretty much prepared for anything, you've told me that plenty of times," Mary mentioned, glancing over at her husband. "Besides, the two of you haven't worked on a case together for a while; you should be looking forward to doing this." The blonde looked over at him, hoping he wouldn't get so worked up.

"Are you sure you want to do this? We have to think about the baby," he mentioned, his concern taking over. "Maybe you should stay here." Though he was sure she'd reject the idea, it was placed out there anyway.

"I'm pregnant not dying from a terminal disease," she countered. "Don't worry so much. I won't be doing anything dangerous and I'll be with Molly just about the whole time once we separate." A light smile was given once he gave a nod, not going on about it any further.

"What do we do if something goes wrong?" Molly asked. She looked at Sherlock, as he was on his cell, appearing to be doing something. "Like we can't find the right people or they kill someone at the party?" Either one was a possible outcome and since she was never involved in something like this before, she was a tad apprehensive.

"Improvise. That's what John and I do on most cases anyway." The youngest Holmes shrugged it off as he was fairly confident that things would work out. "I suppose for now we can go about our day as normal and meet at the charity event tomorrow night. It would be less suspicious if we arrived separately."

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><p>The group entered the party nearly fifteen minutes ago and as expected the place was crowded with people. The husband and wife who were throwing the gathering rented out a large ballroom. Tables were placed throughout, leaving a space in the middle for those who wanted to dance. While coming through the entrance a staircase was seen, one where the couple would probably be until all the guests arrived.<p>

As discussed, John and Mary were to stay close to the doors, checking to see how many people on the list, which was comprised of all possible culprits, came through. Once everyone was here, the army doctor would send Sherlock a quick text, informing him before joining the party and making small talk with people until further notice.

Sherlock and Molly, on the other hand, were out on the main floor doing the same thing for those who were already here. They stood near a table, one that gave them a good view of the area. His eyes scanned the space a few times over, making a mental note of who was and wasn't there. Although trying not to be so conscious of how close the brunette was to him, it was impossible not to.

As he was busy, she turned her eyes to his; to see his like they always were when on a case. They were focused and intent but at the same time he seemed to be off track. The interest and intrigue were still there, somehow conveying how fixated his attention was, and yet he was distracted. A small almost inaudible sigh escaped. Asking him would probably get her nowhere.

Sherlock paused his search upon hearing her outtake. "Everything okay?" he asked, sparing a glance in her direction. Her uneasiness was detected right away, the fiddling of her fingers, the way she bit down on her lip, and even the way she stood gave it away. No matter what he would make sure she stayed out of harm's way, the same with Mary.

"I'm fine," she said, nodding her head. "Just a little nervous about the whole thing. I've never done something like this before. I'm sure it will work out as long as everything goes according to your plan." She trusted him after all; he never gave her reason not to. Molly felt safe being with him. "If I had to guess, I'd say the people we're looking for would have arrived first, probably doing the same thing we are."

"That… sounds about right," he said, almost drawing out his words. "We still have some time before they close the doors and anyone here could be a target. If our murderers decided to kill their next victim here, they'd be going off of their pattern but one should always expect the unexpected." His composure was kept at its normal level, nonetheless he could feel his heartbeat grow deeper with every passing moment.

And it made him stop and think about John's words, perhaps things could be better, that happiness, though very near difficult to achieve, wasn't impossible. But if he were to suddenly express his feelings, not only would it be uncharacteristic it would also be badly timed. Turing his head in another direction, struggling to keep his mind off of her, he spotted a familiar face. "Oh, you've got to be kidding."

"Something wrong?" Upon his vexed announcement, Molly faced him prior to following his gaze. "I didn't know Greg would be here, I thought only people who were in certain families were allowed in, besides us of course." The eldest Holmes simply had to call in a favor to get them inside.

"Stay here," Sherlock instructed, walking away before she could say anything in rebuttal. Slipping past a few guests, he approached the man with a rather irritated look on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I got an invitation and I decided to stop by," he replied with a light shrug. Lestrade tilted his head slightly, acting nonchalant about the whole thing; although he pretty much figured the detective wasn't happy to see at the moment. "I'm assuming you're here for another reason though, the usual if I had to guess. Are you working on a case?"

A heavy breath was released. "I'm waiting for an explanation. Why are you here?" By all means, Sherlock already knew the correct answer to the question but he was also aware that he would avoid giving it to him.

"I told you, I was invited," Greg repeated before taking a sip of the drink he held in his hand. Whether Sherlock liked it or not, he had incentive to be here tonight, doing his job, so to speak. It's been a while since he received such a task, though it wasn't completely unexpected.

"This is Mycroft isn't it? One mention of a possible problem and he's sending you here to check up on me, as if I need to be watched over." Rolling his eyes, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "Since my brother thinks you are necessary, I can't rightfully turn you away, although I do resent the fact. And in the meantime, as I know you will continue to deny his involvement, I suggest you maintain a watchful eye."

"So, you have the feeling something's going to happen then?" Greg asked. It was the perfect setting to commit a crime. Hundreds of people were around and a minimal offense would go unnoticed. At the same time, a multitude of citizens made it a perfect opportunity for a bigger act of misconduct to unfold. He hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

"I don't get feelings, I just know. Have your gun ready, something's about to go down tonight," Sherlock simply mentioned, providing little information, as he walked away. He knew Lestrade could handle himself just fine, besides that wasn't his main concern right now. As he returned to Molly, his phone vibrated. "Looks like everyone is here," he told her, scanning through the text then making a quick reply.

"What do we do now?" she asked, looking around for a moment. "Should we talk to some of them or just wait?" The brunette was aware how Sherlock was never one for social gatherings, as he simply looked, and probably felt, out of place.

"We have about twenty minutes before the host will thank everyone for coming and for donating their money. I suspect they are the possible targets considering everything. Just by looking at the décor, you can tell this wasn't an inexpensive thing to set up, even for someone of high stature," the detective explained. "As for what we should do, besides standing here waiting for John to send another message, I suggest a dance."

"Dance?" Molly asked almost bemused. She certainly wasn't expected him to say that, then again he managed to surprise her every so often. Of course, she couldn't deny the request no matter what the reason. When he extended his hand, she hesitated slightly before taking it, reminding herself it probably didn't mean anything. It couldn't be taken as something more.

"It's better than starting mild chatter with other people and we'll have a better view in the middle of the room opposed to where we are. Besides, since you're not getting married, I have no other incentive." Although he was a bit tentative being so close to her, he thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to not care about his confusion right now.

Once in the middle of the room, surrounded by other already moving to the soft tune playing in the background, he kept his fingers locked with hers, while his right arm rested on her back. He waited for her to place digits on his upper shoulder before leading. Sherlock rather enjoyed the activity, so it wasn't extremely difficult to keep himself relaxed.

The minor amount of tension the brunette felt eased ever so slightly at the sight of him, from the way his gaze seemed to soften the moment it met hers. A smile, though a bit weak at first, seemed to somehow find its way on his face. This was Sherlock Holmes, someone she'd known almost all her life, though she often wondered if she knew him at all. Moments like these, when he showed how kind he could be or merely how easy it was to be in his company, she thought she might, but there were few things Molly was sure of anymore.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you dance so well," she said, keeping her tone light, as if speaking too loud would ruin the atmosphere. She could still see it though, the silent tread of unease and maybe something else she couldn't quite place. And despite her want to settle whatever was bothering him, Molly stopped herself. Still, a sad smile touched her lips and she wished so badly that she could do something about it.

"I was always rather fond of it," he replied back. Sherlock felt compelled to go on talking about the case but at the same time didn't want to. There was just something about being close to her, making contact without pulling away that made things more clear. His feelings for her were there and they didn't seem to be going away anytime soon.

Letting silence settle between them, Molly glanced away, although still kept a constant motion. She knew nothing was really different between them after all this time but she could see the smallest change in his eyes. She could tell how hard it was for Sherlock to speak about anything he felt, always having to act as if he was incapable of affection or friendship. And once again, she felt her heart flood with warmth, compassion for the man who'd grown up far too fast, despite his common display of almost childish mannerism.

Sherlock took a small breath, almost annoyed at himself for feeling this way towards her. Yet, it seemed as if nothing would quell his growing affection. Looking at her, he wondered if he should listen to John and say something. There were so many reasons why he shouldn't though. He wasn't good at letting people in and it was hard knocking down all the walls he placed.

Regardless, he pursed his lips for moment before initial deciding to speak. "You were right you know, something has been bothering me lately," the detective told her, in an almost withdrawn voice, causing Molly to look at him. He stopped there, not knowing how else to put it without outright confessing. It wasn't easy though, keeping everything inside.

Molly tilted her head a bit. She already knew, for she could read the pained look in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. He was never any good at hiding things, not from her. And it hurt to know that he would try anyway, whether it was for her sake or not. "You don't have to tell me, but you already know I'll listen if you need me to."

"You always do," Sherlock said with a small chuckle. "I wasn't certain at first about something but now I'm pretty sure I know what it means. You probably wouldn't take it very seriously considering it's so unlike me in the first place. Ridiculous to even consider." His paced slowed a little, all his uncertainty boiled up, causing a tightening feeling to swell within his chest.

"What do you mean?" she questioned, voice low and full of concern. If only he could see what she saw, a man who was so distinctly good, loyal, wonderful, even if he couldn't find those attributes on the surface. There were so many things he didn't believe himself to be and yet she saw every one of them. All those words were just an echo of things she couldn't bring herself to say.

"We've known each other for a long time, haven't we? I admit, I haven't exactly treated you like I should have and no, it's not okay." He knew she was going to say it was fine but it wasn't. How could it be? When Molly said she didn't count, it threw him off a bit. He never actually realized she felt that way. Even if the impression was evident, it was never meant. "You've always been there, even if I didn't tend to notice."

It sounded out of place, but it was the truth. Honestly, looking back, he did feel bad for the way he acted towards her. Never asking and always expecting her to drop everything to help. It didn't matter how willing she was to lend a hand. Guilt was a cruel thing; it ate away at you in your most vulnerable moments, tormenting you until you just had to apologize. The word sorry was thrown between them too often though.

"That's because I-" The brunette stopped herself. She couldn't go off about how she felt, not now when he was trying to tell her something. It was strange to see him act so openly when lately all he's been is closed off. "You don't need to make up for anything," she told him, the grip on his shoulder loosening slightly. "You're very important to me. Not many people say nice things about you but I know you're a good person."

It took him forever to realize the truth in what she just said. He never thought much about good or bad, he was just Sherlock Holmes. He was constantly able to think straight, to be the logical one, and he was always reasonable. His voice stayed low, gaze still averted. "You say that as if you know all the bad I did in the past. You've done more for me than I can thank you for. You saved my life." In a sense she did. Not just by helping him fake his death but from himself.

Molly leaned her head against his shoulder, an action she did without really thinking about what she was doing. It was like she couldn't have enough contact, as if she had to make sure he was really here with her because she didn't want him to slip away and leave, not again. She felt his body relax at the touch and her smile was no longer seemed forced or hard to uphold. Being with him just made her happy.

"I don't know about that," she admitted in spite of herself. "I can hardly hold anything against you after everything you've been doing for me lately." This was true in many aspects. He didn't have to let her stay with him, ask for her help on cases, or even be as nice as he's been since he got back. The transition he made was amazing though.

"You were the only person Moriarty overlooked," Sherlock mentioned as he had before. It was obvious to him why Jim disregarded her. Sherlock never acted like he cared for her and was downright rude towards her upon their first meeting. During his pause, he watched as she lifted up her head, making eye contact. "He didn't think you mattered at all to me when actually, it's quite the opposite."

Another break was taken, it was now or never. A few racing thoughts ran through his mind, affecting his ability to continue. Telling her could cause more problems than keeping his feeling a secret but, then again, he was conscious of how she felt about him. If he did reveal anything, Molly would never brush him aside. Pushing every reeling thought back, he once again opened his mouth to speak.

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><p><strong>Yay for progress! The only question remaining now is if Sherlock will actually tell her or maybe he'll get interrupted. Not sure which one I'll end up doing. Please review and let me know what you thought.<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**I was debating on what to do for this chapter because you guys wanted different things but I hope what I decided won't disappoint anyone. Keeping everyone in character is really hard sometimes, especially when it comes to Sherlock. All I can really do is try my best, but your support really helps. Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows. Now on with the story!**

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><p>Molly found the silence somewhat unsettling, but the closeness, having him so near, seemed to settle her nerves. She could still tell there was something, perhaps a few words that wanted to escape Sherlock's lips that just couldn't break free, otherwise, he wouldn't have paused. He wouldn't have stopped at the place he had, repeating words similar to what was spoken in the past.<p>

She found herself giving a light sigh as he continued to look way too much in thought. If only she knew what was racing around in that head of his. He was always thinking, in a constant state of awareness and it was exhausting just looking at him. The grip on his shoulder loosened a bit. They were still moving slowly to the soft music in the background but his footing wasn't rightly placed.

The brunette almost wanted to say something herself, yet couldn't get her mouth to open, not right now. She was sure there wasn't much time left before either John would text him or the hosts would make their appearance. Staying quiet wasn't difficult, only a little when so highly strung, but maybe getting some verses out of her own would prompt him to keep going.

In a way his silence spoke louder than any words could, at least that's what she perceived. The way his gaze remained fixed off in the distance, how his jaw was set ever so slightly, she had somehow came to the conclusion that he didn't want to talk anymore, or simply couldn't. And although seeing him like this, somewhat out of character, it only confused her more. It also added more unanswered questions.

Finally she took a small breath and voiced her thoughts. "I don't know what you're trying to say but you can always tell me later," Molly said, facing him. Her words were softly spoken, because she didn't like the look treading down his face, hated the worry she seemed to add to his troubled features, and disliked increasing the weight upon his already burdened shoulders.

He didn't want to pay heed to what she said, the urge to ignore her sentence was almost too good to pass up, but she was right on one account, he was trying to tell her something. It would be easier to offer one excuse after another, it was simpler. He didn't ask to feel this way and never expected to either. Sherlock wasn't even sure himself. How can he admit things to her that he hadn't yet accepted?

The chance of losing their friendship was a lot to risk, no matter how much he wanted to just stay like this for as long as possible. He just couldn't get any of it out but telling her, the words might as well fall on deaf ears, it was just a useless attempt and verbalizing them would be even worse. Or would it? And that was where he would become confused all over again.

"I don't think saying anything later would make it any easier," Sherlock vaguely mentioned, only seeming to further prompt her curiosity. "What if I was to tell you something that could very well change things between us, either in a bad or good way? Would you still want to know?" Part of him had to ask, possibly for himself or for her sake.

That reply was thething she wasn't expecting. It caught her off guard, causing her brown hues to gaze up at him once more. And yet, despite his body language being so different than his standard, despite everything he's done this week that was just so incongruent with his normal mannerisms, she could hear something in his voice, yet couldn't quite place what it was.

"Could it really be so awful that I would think differently of you?" Molly asked. She was trying to make light of the situation because she believed she had to. Maybe that's what he needed to keep going. But she would have been lying if she said she didn't feel them somewhat drifting apart and yet at the same time felt as if they were closer than ever.

He forced himself to swallow, knowing, for some reason or another, Molly could never really change her view of him but this, it was stressing and very strange for him to deal with and especially to admit. "Awful? Probably not, depending on how you look at it. No, sorry, that's undoubtedly the wrong way to put it if you knew what I was trying to say."

"Don't apologize, you don't have to," she quickly said. Those words slipped passed than far too often for her liking. She just wanted to figure out what was wrong, wanted to know what he couldn't say. After all, Molly knew Sherlock, sometimes better than he knew himself. "I just wish things were easier." But she already knew he tended to open up to her, wasn't that enough?

A tight sort of smile tugged on his lips, drawn merely from her choice of wording. Simplicity wasn't always easy to achieve, even more difficult to maintain. Taking how he felt right now into consideration, it pained him at how strained his own words were, at how hollow they seemed. Because regardless, he knew he could turn to her whenever. Now, he was trying to mask it, pretending everything was okay, not realizing it only made matters worse.

This was getting increasingly ridiculous. He should just come outright and say it. But even Mycroft's disputes, the whole 'caring is not an advantage' thing was weighing him down. Instead of speaking he moved a bit closer. "In a sense, I'm not all that sure myself. But this… it keeps nagging at me day after day and quite honestly I don't think it's going away anytime soon."

Was he ever just going to tell her what was going on? Molly felt her body freeze as he drew nearer. It was the type of closeness they have shared before, but it was never long, a few seconds at best. And she didn't know what to do. Instead of speaking again, she remained quiet, waiting to hear what else he had to say, if he could get himself to carry on.

"You always thought I was too good for you. When honestly, I'm not good enough for you," Sherlock finally said, his words softly spoken as his eyes directed away again but he could feel her fingers, tighten on his shoulder but inagentle, careful way. And, just like it always was in her presence, things didn't feel as difficult once they were out in the open.

"What do you mean by that?" Molly asked, not quite sure she understood what he was trying to say. The words escaped quickly, as soon as they came to mind, because with him it didn't used to be like this, he was never this cagey, this cautious, she might even add guarded to the list, when conversing with her. It was almost too difficult, for she knew something wasn't okay, yet he wouldn't admit it. However, he didn't have to, but lying had never been a part of this, whatever _this _was.

"I'm probably only confusing you further but I'm rather at odds myself… I'm not exactly used to feeling what I am right now, towards you, I mean," Sherlock admitted, catching sight of her slightly widened brown eyes, even the minor change in the coloring of her cheeks were noticed. He could only smile a bit at that. "The truth is I-"

His words were suddenly cut short when his phone started to ring. A small huff was released before stopping their dance and taking out the cell. Reading the text sent by John, who really had horrible timing today, he didn't see Molly's confusion growing more apparent on her face. She knew what it sounded like he was trying to get out, but being too hopeful only seemed to crush her more in the end, it always had in the past.

He could have even been trying to set her down gently prior to completely rejecting her, since he was very much aware of her affections. Molly looked away then back at him. The case would obviously come first; it had to when people's lives were at risk. She would ask him later, had to get him to continue even if it wouldn't end in her favor.

"Molly, I need you to go find Mary," he mentioned, still somewhat taken aback by the sudden switch of situation. But he had to be stoic again, had to force everything bubbling up back down. "Remember everything we planned and stay together. It's about time we go to the second phase and ended this." Leaving, he shook his head almost wanting to look back at her but kept moving.

After sending a quick message to Lestrade, he spotted the army doctor. Approaching the man, Sherlock took a similar stance, his focus turned back to their original objective. "You sure they're making their move right now? Seems a bit early, but if they're that eager, I would suspect no less." He could always mull it over later or maybe when in their target's presence.

"I just saw someone slip past security a few minutes ago, we have to get upstairs," John mentioned, keeping his tone low. "I'm guessing this means whoever these guys are, they're after the people throwing the charity event. It makes sense, I guess, seeing how much money the made tonight and just going off how rich the couple is already."

"And I think I might know who our culprits are," Sherlock mumbled after glancing about the room. "No point in wasting time." He was sure he was right when it came to who the criminals were now that all the clues were coming together in his mind. He could also say it was fairly obvious, maybe so apparent that he might have looked it over if not for all the evidence and one remaining factor.

After John nodded, they made their way around the men posted near the entrance. They could hear as the hosts came out and started speaking, which meant their time limit was set, meaning they had to take care of the job before the couple finished. Sherlock slowed his place a bit before entering the small room closest to the stairwell, spotting someone there already.

"Look who it is," the detective immediately announced, gaining the man's attention. "Alan Archer. Plan on murdering your own brother just for his money? I only had two suspects that came to mind and you were the first." His response was withheld some because he seen this guy before on the television and just from mere observation, Sherlock could pick up on his personality.

Alan wasn't exactly the nervous type, somewhat introverted, but not one you should anger. Sherlock didn't pity a man now standing before them, who was apparently more alike to his brother than given credit for. No, he couldn't pity him, he did however hold some level of understanding, in a way that would help him talk with him and gain an advantage.

"Sherlock Homes and John Watson, I should have guessed you two would be here," Alan replied, eyes narrowing slightly at the new company. His position shifted but other than that no more movement came from him. He was aware of how long he had to wait out before making a move, the question now was what he should do about them.

"There's no point in trying anything, we have the exit blocked," John told him, just in case he tried to make a run for it. In all likelihood they had this one handled but trusting in that thought didn't always prove to be the best idea, things could always take a turn for the worse. He might not have picked up on half the details Sherlock was able to but he was still aware of who this man is.

"So tell me, how did you know?" he asked, making sure his own weapon was visible. He couldn't be too careful because there wasn't a person in England who wasn't aware of these two and what they did. Their job was to take people like him in, people who murder and turn to crime. "I must have made some kind of slipup for you to notice someone like me."

They are always curious to know how and of course, Sherlock was more than happy to give an answer, perhaps one a bit longwinded though. "I should have realized it sooner, it was all over the news, a middleclass man discovers oil and suddenly becomes one of the wealthiest people in London, who just happened to be your brother. He left you high and dry, wouldn't give a dime to his own family and you were facing bankruptcy at the time, hence the stressor. Left with no other options you start killing to gain income. Not a very good strategy if you ask me."

Sherlock took a small pause and a few steps inward before continuing. "Oh, and let's not forget the newspapers, another mistake made. I noticed something rather peculiar about every one that had those anonymous columns. They were only there when an article featuring George Archer was written, a very rudimentary error on your wife's end. Shall I go on? I do have so much more."

"Sherlock, maybe you should-" John started to say prior to getting cut off. Maybe the consulting detective was ignorant of the growing look of irritation on the man's face or perhaps that's what he wanted. He was never sure with his strategies but they worked, for the most part anyway, and he supposed questioning him would do nothing to stop him anyway.

"I think I will," he said, bringing his hand together. "Now we can tell just from your appearance you're not exactly as high-class as the others. Though you have the stolen money, you cannot use it just yet, being the fact that you have no way to prove your sudden increase, therefore your suit isn't newly bought like everyone else downstairs. The cuffs are dirty, sticking out too much on one side from overuse. Your tie is clearly stained from wine, a small splatter but not from any brand being served tonight, though hidden well. And your shoes are scuffed up from excessive walking. If you wanted to blend in, you should have done something, I don't know, more creative."

"You could have waited until after the charity event, it would have been easier to kill your brother and his wife," Sherlock unrelentingly went on saying. "Then you could have taken their money and the donations, making it look like a burglary gone wrong. But instead you choose to make a move now. The question is why. And the answer is simply because you're impulsive, couldn't stand seeing him take any more from you, is that right?"

Sherlock took another step, shaking his head a bit. "No need to give an answer, I can see it in your face. And if you were for some reason thinking of using the people downstairs as hostages to barging your way out of this one, it's a tad too late for that." Just as he spoke the fire alarm went off, knowing Molly and Mary were the ones responsible. "Clearly you just lost your chance to kill them. Why don't you just admit it? It will make things so much easier for me."

"Okay fine, but so what if I did all of this to get back at him? You can't prove anything," Alan remarked, anger evident in his tone. All that planning put to waste over a few mistakes. "Besides, who's going to stop me from killing you and your friend right now?" He held up his gun, aiming it at Sherlock, who seemed unfazed by the item.

He made a glance towards John prior to bringing his phone up to his ear, which he had in his hand the entire time. "Did you get all of that?" A small pause was made. "Wonderful. Mycroft's men should be here shortly." He turned back to Allan, who was now wearing a more confused expression. "And to answer the question about stopping you at this moment, that would be him," he mentioned just as Greg showed up, pointing his weapon at the culprit. "You're late. I specifically said in five minutes, not seven."

"Had a bit of trouble getting through the crowd of people rushing to get out of the building," Lestrade remarked, keeping his eyes focused on the man. He walked past both Sherlock and John, making sure to give them a way out. "Put your arms where I can see them and move against the wall," he directed. It took a moment but Alan eventually did as he said, giving up rather quickly since there really was no way out of this predicament.

As Greg handled that, the detective turned some and continued talking to Mycroft. "Even with the police coming, to the press it would only seem like a mishap with the fire alarm. So, as you wanted, I will not be in the newspaper or anything else and so forth with those people who hold a position under you. Lestrade will be there with them shortly. I do hope you're satisfied, dear brother, I had to go out of my way."

"Seeing as things worked out, I am," came the older Holmes' response. "But I will need those mobiles you used, part of the evidence, so to speak, as well as the folder with all the papers I gave you, back. Be sure to return them to me soon, actually as early as possible would be best, or else I will have to come down there myself to get them. For the rest of the case, we can close it and remember, brother mine, not a word about it."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware how top secret your jobs usually are. Regardless, it's finished." After a few more words were passed between them, he closed the cell and placed it back in his pocket. "Glad that's over, although it didn't turn out half as exciting as it could have been if it wasn't for Mycroft's ridiculous rules." With a small sigh, he left the room with John following behind.

It was just then as they returned to the somewhat empty area that he remembered Molly and what he was about to tell her. Sherlock didn't have much time to contemplate over it, seeing as both she and Mary approached them. Even if the whole job was complete, he still had to deal with his feelings towards the brunette, who would obviously be asking what he was going to say.

Before anyone could get a word in the detective spoke. "I'll need all of these." He held up his phone and took back the other three. "I'll be heading to see Mycroft to return some important documents, which I made sure to bring knowing he'd want them. I'm sure you can all handle getting home on your own," Sherlock said, a bit too quickly. It was simple avoidance, trying to get away so he could think some more, and he knew it.

Regardless, he had left the group standing there as he walked away. Though the moment he got outside he lit a cigarette, breathing in the smoke before letting it out into the air. It seemed like all he was doing lately was attempting to reason with himself in regards to Molly. After a moment he shook his head, deciding to walk for a bit before taking a cab.

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><p>The night came and went rather quickly, but Molly wasn't all that surprised when she woke up the next morning and Sherlock still wasn't in the flat. She had to remind herself that he did things like disappearing for a while pretty often. But why did it have to be today? She couldn't stop thinking about what he was going to tell her and it was bugging her more and more as they day continued.<p>

However, when she walked in the door after work, he was there, and just seeing him reminded her why, easier or not, he was the way he was. His job made it rather hard to sit around, he was always leaving when he had to, or when it was insisted upon. He was gone for hours though, and suddenly she decided she wasn't going to ask. Sometimes, the answers had a funny way of providing themselves better when they weren't being forced out by questions.

She merely walked into the room, waited for him to say something, bring it up. Because if he didn't, maybe he still wasn't ready to say whatever it was and wanted some quiet or perhaps he just needed to be alone for all of that time. Although, Molly couldn't figure out what it was he wanted in the slightest. "When did you get back?" she asked, solely out of interest.

"About an hour ago," he remarked, shifting his gaze towards her for a moment. He was currently lying on couch, his hands brought together while his fingertips touched his chin. Toby was sleeping on his stomach, but the cat's presence didn't really bother him all that much and besides, he couldn't get him to stay on the floor. "You're later than normal."

"Oh, well I ran into Tom on my way back. We just talked for a bit, caught up on a few things," she mentioned, shrugging. It was nice to see him again, considering they haven't seen one another since she moved in here. But she was a tad disappointed that Sherlock didn't mention last night instantly like she had hoped he would. A sigh escaped yet it was quiet and went unnoticed.

Sherlock remained silent after that, his brows only furrowing upon the mention of her former fiancé. He was more focused on the fact that he was actually going to tell her. Never had he made a decision that seemed so off his moral compass. It befuddled him so much he avoided all company the next day, not even bothering to reply to any of John's messages.

But now she was here again and he was painfully aware nothing, no matter what he tried, would stop him from feeling this way. And now he didn't even have a case to work on to distract him, not that the last one was very helpful in the first place. There was no escaping how he felt because even as he lay still, he could hear the increase of his heartbeat every time she spoke.

At some point he found his eyes moving to where she was. He was constantly alert of every small change in his normal behavior when concerning her. And the smile on her face when Toby suddenly jumped off of him and came up to her seemed to form easily across her lips. There was a slight look of relaxation taking over her features, opposed to him, who looked tired since he hadn't slept very much the past few days.

It was funny how even while he could be so immersed in himself one look in her direction was all it took to quickly change that, after all his thoughts tended to stray. Sherlock let his lips tug upwards a bit, less forced and more careful than anything else. He wasn't quite sure what he should do, if anything. Of what she remembered, how much of their conversation she dispelled. Knowing Molly as well as he did, he already knew she recalled every second of it.

"Do you have any other cases to work on?" Molly suddenly asked, trying to rid the silence in the room. Besides, she knew he got rather bored if his mind wasn't occupied. "There's always something for you to do, I supposed. Though I'm sure not every one of them catches your interest." And she was right about that because he had the habit of disregarding the smaller ones.

"Not at the moment, nothing exciting enough has come up yet," he replied, able to keep his normal epitome of composure in his tone. He turned his gaze from her after giving a reply. But in all honesty, he had no motivation to go searching for something to do. How could he when Molly was clouding his thoughts? It was something akin to horrible to endure, yet at the same time it felt quite the opposite, like he needed her to remain on his mind.

Amongst all confusion, one thing became clear. He most certainly cared for Molly, he may even be so bold to say he developed genuine feelings for her, which to most it would seem impossible to consider. He was Sherlock Holmes after all and made it known to everyone that his work was his first priority. When that aspect changed, he wasn't sure himself.

It may have been unsteady at first due to the delicacy of the situation and circumstances over the years, but her affections for him have never once been wrong, Sherlock just disregarded them the whole time. He heard people wait all their lives to find the right person, that they're told it happens when you least expect it. He had ignored those words, not believing much in them.

But then he started to realize, when he was with Molly thing didn't seem so difficult and being around her wasn't hard. He had lost a lot time, spending it on crime and focusing on catching the people who went against the law. And yet the one thing that never truly gone astray was Molly's devotion to him. The fact that he had no idea it meant so much to him until now was bewildering. Here he was a great detective, a man who was supposedly knew so much, blind to her for so long.

It was a cruel twist of irony that showed him through losing her, perhaps by disappearing for two years or maybe even to Tom for a brief period, without much reverence to the latter, how much she mattered to him. Her 'I don't count' really put a few things into perspective, though he could only do so much when the words were expressed during a bad situation. But it prompted him to go to her anyway and ask for help; really it could only be her.

Sherlock had done so many things as of late, against his judgment, against his own personality. But he honestly couldn't take much more of this, the way his feelings for her swelled up every time he saw her. To think, after everything, he still wanted to tell her. Yet the words, they were caught in his throat. All he could do was look at her, which he found to be just as testing.

He was at a loss on what to do, how to tell her exactly what he wanted because he wasn't sure if it would make sense if spoken. So instead, after so long of trying to hold back, of struggling to wait out his growing affections, he decided to do something about it. Not caring whether it betrayed rational thinking or not. But in all matter of circumstances, he could care less about that.

She was in mid-sentence, talking about something that went completely unnoticed, when he stood from the couch. It only took a few steps to reach her. Molly had looked up at him, a mix of confusion and uncertainty colored her expression. Heedless to what could be diverged afterwards; Sherlock placed his hands on the sides of her face and pressed his mouth to her, capturing her lips in a kiss.

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><p><strong>I know, I know, you're all going to hate me for leaving you on yet another cliffhanger. First I make Sherlock get interrupted and then he kisses her. Since this is my tenth chapter I thought something should actually happen between them, but don't worry, I still have so many ideas to incorporate. This story won't be ending anytime soon, at least I hope. Now I just need to think about what's going to happen next. On a different note, please review and let me know what your thoughts are. I'm always interested in hearing what you guys have to say.<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**I know you guys have been waiting forever for an update and I apologize for taking so long but I'm working on more than one story at the moment, so I'm getting chapters out as soon as possible. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it wasn't exactly the easiest thing for me to write because Sherlock is such a complicated character and evolving his relationship with Molly has been pretty difficult to do. Regardless, I did the best I could, so I hope you're all satisfied with the way it turned out.**

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><p>As odd as it sounded, he wasn't sure how this all started. Sherlock couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he came to the conclusion that kissing Molly Hooper was a good idea. It was unexpected and a tad drastic move on his end, if he were to linger on it. He had no clear answers, no reason besides his taxing and encumbered flow of emotions, which as of right now, he couldn't even date back to when they started.<p>

Perhaps he was reading into things too much, thought too much on particular events and vague sensations when really nothing was set in stone. But when it comes to Sherlock Holmes, few things are truly nothing. And if he had at some point actually learned to trust instinct over logic, his very base of reason, something must be amiss. There was just something about her, something different.

Whatever it was, intensified the need to know more about her, she had somewhere along the line intrigued him and caught hold of his attention in such a light and yet shrouded way. He knew with all her tendencies, it was never Molly's objective to say anything at all, never thought she could fascinate him to such a degree. To be honest, he was probably more surprised than she was.

And something, he wasn't quite sure what, told him while making a move like this wasn't entirely safe, it wasn't completely wrong either. Kissing the brunette wasn't setting danger to fall upon her or anyone else he considered close. But one could never be too sure, because he knew there was always someone out there smart enough to use those who matter against you.

There was nothing unusual about this day that could have foreseen this event. No case that had his blood racing, since one was just finished a short while ago, no life or death moment that he could use to blame his actions on. In fact, the day had been a rather boring one, a mundane string of events leaving him in too much thought and little sense of preservation.

Memories jumped from laying on the couch, attempting to simply force his affections away for a while, just a few seconds so he could spare himself some justification, to when he casted it all aside and pressed his lips to hers. It was different though, held a strange feeling but between intermingling breaths and clumsy hand movements, he couldn't find rationality in anything at all.

Molly didn't even pull away. He knew why though, she had secretly wanted this so long, too long probably, and couldn't snap herself out of the moment. His fingers stroked the smooth skin of her face with only slight hesitance in the initial contact. Warmth flooded his already feverish body, setting his nerves on fire. The light, almost airy way she ran her small digits through his hair entranced him, pushing him to keep going.

The taste of her lips was somewhat familiar to him, perhaps the way he imagined they'd be, so sweet it both burned his tongue and made his heartbeat quicken in pace. But he had to pull away eventually, right? Stop the wave of static charging through his system. Because despite himself, he wanted this, more than he believed he ever could. And he was driving himself into the ground trying to figure out why.

Eventually, he came to a realization that this could very well instigate more problems between them and he tugged away, causing her to lean forward a bit after his sudden movement. Sherlock eyes darted away, his breath steadying itself once air could be properly taken in. He unexpectedly found it harder to breathe, to hold an even rhythm.

He took a moment to glance at Molly. Her head was slightly lowered. Her fingers tightly clenched together, and her expression, although only partly seen, swirled with emotion, mostly confusion of what just happened, if he had to guess. The silence in the room, however, was more overwhelming than he anticipated. Sherlock took a step back, needing to gain some distance.

His shoulders slumped forward under the strain. He didn't deserve to be standing before the woman who'd done nothing but cared for him, loved him if he would be so bold to consider. And what did he give her in return after everything they've been though? Pain? Loneliness? Jealousy? All three of them perhaps. Quite honestly, he wasn't sure.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have…" His voice ended up trailing but that was about the only thing he could get himself to say. The utter despondency and guilt now looming over him took control. What was he supposed to do now? Hadn't she been through enough already without him adding this, whether it meant more or not, to her? It wasn't subtle either, it was too quick.

Her head snapped up at the apology, her ponytail left swaying for a few seconds. His words caused a pain to weld up in her chest and she almost wanted be angry at him. But she couldn't be. "Then why?" she exhaled, her tone almost too light to hear. "Why did you kiss me like that?" She always wanted him to, but right now, when he was being so completely distant lately, she couldn't make sense of it.

"I didn't know what to say or do for that matter," he expressed, hands falling to his sides. Once he started the words just continued to come out. "I was caught off guard by the whole thing and it was staring at me straight in the face the entire time. John was right. I just, I can't stop thinking about it. Even if Moriarty never came into the picture and forced me to fake my death, I would still have developed these feelings at one point. In retrospect, it was only a matter of time. I tried to deny them. I thought… maybe all I was doing was confusing our friendship with something more. But as it turns out, I was so intent on denying the fact that I could actually care for someone in _that_ way, I let everything build up."

How could he admit all of this to her now? Molly was almost ready to give up, still clinging onto whatever string of hope she could possibly grab onto. As long as they maintained the level of trust they formed over the years, she would have been okay with that, for the most part because her dreams of being with him, they never faded no matter how much time passed.

And now here he was claiming he had feelings for her, she never thought she'd ever hear such a statement from him. It rendered her speechless for a moment, making her bite down on her lip. "That's not funny, Sherlock," Molly expressed, disbelief taking over and it came out before she could stop herself. Her immediate response to his admission, if had come just a bit sooner, would have been something more accepting.

An automatic sense of happiness should have been there. Perhaps it was his tone of voice, or the way he said it, the way he no longer had that bold look on his face, the one she was used to seeing every day. It was calmer, more careful than she was accustomed to. And that should have been enough to dash away all her worries, her fears that he could be, for some reason, lying to her.

"I wasn't trying to be," he gently insisted. Sherlock could detect a lot from her response, her actions too but he couldn't bring himself to start nit-picking every little detail. He could see the apprehension coming back through her features as her lips came together and her brown orbs darted around, looking at anything that wasn't him. "You know who I am. You know I don't say things like that, to you especially, without meaning them."

Her breath was caught in her throat for a moment. While she has been avoiding his gaze before, she now wanted to meet it, wanted him to give her answers to the never ending wave of questions running through her mind. "You've known this whole time, haven't you? You knew how I've felt about you for all these years and you never said anything about it. Why?" Besides his small remark he made about the types of people she always fell for, nothing was ever said.

His mouth opened, trying to verbalize a coherent denial against her statement, to somehow say she was wrong, but he couldn't. Words would only got them so far though, particularly when the topic of conversation was this, but his eyes often spoke of things he would never say out loud, which could very well be a undoing. "Did you really expect me to? You clearly weren't going to admit anything either."

"You wouldn't have taken me seriously," she argued back. The brunette knew that from experience, from just being around him so often. Molly didn't want to go back and forth like this, but it hurt more than she thought it would. "Believe it or not, I tried to get you to notice me, tried even something as small as asking you out for coffee. But of course, you disregarded me."

He remembered, obviously he would. It was the same day he met John, just a few minutes previous to their first encounter. He did ignore her offer, not really grasping what she meant when he was so absorbed in his work. Even the whole lipstick thing passed over him. But he could look back now and see them. "I never meant to."

"But you did. And it's just hard to hear all of this now because I wanted you to feel the same way, it just doesn't seem real at all," she admitted, collapsing onto the couch. Her eyes were glossed with water but she blinked the tears away before they escaped, not wanting them to slide down her cheek and in turn make him feel worse and it was funny how she still thought about him so much when she was upset herself.

"It would have been simpler if you just stayed with Tom." That way she would have been off limits, still engaged to someone who she could be with without worrying about getting hurt or anything dangerous he came upon during cases. A hand rubbed over his eyes, vexation noticeably seeping through them. "This isn't exactly easy for me."

"Easy for you?" she repeated in question, her voice drawn out. "Do you this has been easy for me? I've felt this way about you for so long. I never said anything because I didn't want to burden you with my feelings." When she finally felt safe enough, she looked up at him, swallowing dryly. "I don't know what you were expecting to happen after telling me."

She wanted a lot of things, one of them being Sherlock Holmes. It was impossible to think he could ever have such an attachment to her. But what did he want from all of this? To forget it and move on? Or was it something entirely different, the one thing Molly found herself dreaming about more than she should have been, definitely more than she wanted to say.

He stared into her eyes and without meaning to, his voice dropped lower and softer. "I don't know." And he honestly didn't. Having a girlfriend wasn't who he was. He defined himself as a sociopath, meaning no empathy, no true romantic attachments. "Like I told you earlier, you deserve someone better than me." In all honesty, he couldn't understand how she could be so devoted.

Before she wouldn't have thought twice about accepting his confession but now, after everything they went through, her self-preservation was a bit stronger. And so was the need to guard her heart. "Let me be the one who decides what's best for me," Molly told him, standing from the sofa. "Yes, you're not exactly the 'I love you' type, but you proved people wrong before. So maybe I should let you decide what you want because you already know how I feel."

He looked at odds with himself, and suddenly, she wanted to, no needed to ask him if he's alright despite having only exchanged maybe a handful of words about what happened. Molly wasn't sure what always prompted herself to be the one who gave in first, but she can't quite quell it. This time, however, she remained silent, waiting for him to say something.

This was the first time she saw him like this, she was sure of it because even when he was stuck on a case he wasn't this confused, never in this much disarray. But he kept eluding her all day, every step of the way. Every stride she took, it was as if he'd take another two to get away. And she was tired of playing catch up with him and then he turned it all around on her.

It was apparent that even if he never said anything at all, never made such a_ bold_ move, nothing would have changed. She was still hopelessly falling for him, despite it all, despite everything he told her. Even now she wanted something she would never be so lucky to have. What were the chances of him actually wanting to be a couple? Just because he admitted he had feeling for her didn't automatically mean things would change between them.

It seemed that most things in her life, if not all of them, couldn't be explained, at least not easily. Love, pain, guilt, confusion, all of them were just a jumble of emotions. He said everything he wanted to and yet she still felt like he was holding something back. She was never one for falsities and lies. The truth hurts, yes, but she had grown up believing in it. And wasn't not knowing just as painful? Because Molly could attest for a fact that ignorance was most certainly not bliss.

Sherlock had the feeling that he should have said something sooner but the initial need was suppressed, even right now when he was given a chance, he still wanted to keep it all locked up. He ducked his head slightly. What she told him, making the decision on his own, it was a lot more difficult than he thought it would be. But she heard practically everything and he somewhat predicated something like this to happen.

It was like she asked him a difficult question to answer. Why he tried so hard to stay away, only to come back. In the end it was his decision. And maybe he just had to accept the fact that this was indeed something he couldn't rightfully explain. Wasn't that how affection, love even, worked though? You get pulled into it so quickly; one can hardly understand how it all started. Common sense could say it was wrong, but one simply couldn't control who their heart wanted and his was pulling in her direction.

His voice had come out a bit winded every time he spoke, because really there was no way to explain his actions. Before all of this he had been aloof when speaking to her, trying to hide the fact that he was growing fond of her, trying to prevent any sort of pain or upset to befall the brunette. It was a lot harder to do than he ever expected. He had no idea how much of a hold she had on him until she was pushed out, until he pushed her away.

In the end her happiness meant more to him than his own because perhaps down the line he never really thought he deserved something like that. His life was too complicated, too much in the darkness. "Molly," he finally said, gaining back her attention. He took a breath and waited a moment. "I know I shouldn't have disregarded your feelings the way I did, but you have to understand that I never wanted to hurt you."

"I do understand, Sherlock. More than you seem to realize," she told him. A small smile formed on her face, though it's more out of habit than anything. She became good at smiling despite the circumstances, good at pretending everything is alright, even when it wasn't. "You're always so busy, so focused on your work you never let anyone in. And once John entered your life, I think you started to see that having connections with people wasn't entirely a bad thing. Love was just never in the picture because you never let it be."

Sherlock took a breath before making a reply. She always seemed to know so much about him. Was it because Molly always cared for him? Paid attention whenever they were in the same room? "People tend to be more in tune with someone else when there's an attachment," he found himself saying instead of getting out any of the questions plaguing his mind.

"Is that a bad thing?" It was, wasn't it? In some aspects, she already knew what he was going to say. He was the same man she knew for years. It was when she looked up that and saw his expression; his normal in thought look changed the slightest bit in detail. And it was funny how time made no difference, not to her. He was still Sherlock Holmes no matter what.

"Depends on who you're asking," he remarked prior to taking a step closer to her, finally lessening the distance. He glanced down, her gaze reaching his. "It's not in your best interest to be in love with me, Molly Hooper. Danger follows me every passing day, I seek it out, it's a never ending game." A game he couldn't live without, being a detective was his life.

"I never cared about the danger," the brunette replied, shaking her head. After all, she was willing to do so much for him and if some risk was involved it wouldn't scare her away. She pulled at the end of her sleeves, her nerves starting to get the better of her, they always did when he was standing as close as he was. "What I care about is you."

"Which is why you never turned me down when I needed help, regardless of how I treated you. Again, I feel as if I must apologize," the detective mentioned. He had asked for her forgiveness before about all of that and she, of course, accepted it right away. But it was never really enough, he basically ignored her all along, looking over the fact that she had feelings for him. They came to light even more so during Christmas a few years back.

At that time he was overly bothered by Irene Adler, so he took the opportunity to deduce the top present in the bag she brought over, not knowing it was for him. Perhaps that was the moment he realized just how much she cared for him, that it went beyond a small crush. So, he asked for a pardon because the hurt look in her eyes, the sound of her voice even, made the guilt for embarrassing her increase.

"You didn't mean to come off as rude as you did." Molly was sure it never was intentional. She pressed her lips together for a moment. They somewhat diverged from the original topic and it was a bit difficult, however, she had to bring them back to it. "But now we're here, not knowing what to say to one another. And like I said, I don't know what you want."

She cared about him too much to ask for a direct answer, knowing he was having a difficult time on the matter. Normally, he could make up his mind rather quickly and had to on many occasions, when on a case, or during certain situations that came about. It was just different now, for more than one reason. What he wanted? That should be such a simple thing to answer.

But he disliked change, at least something that drastic. Sherlock pushed past his nagging feelings for so long that eventually he couldn't anymore and just kissed her out of nowhere. And the sensations following it held his interest, since it was unlike anything he felt before, yet he was still wavering. Though he already knew his affections weren't going anywhere.

"I'm not good when it comes to all this relationship stuff and quite frankly was never fond of the idea. It's a distraction, somewhat ridiculous and irritable in a sense. I was never with anyone… romantically, I guess you'd say for obvious reasons. And honestly, the practicality of people falling in and out of love with various people is simply a temperamental state of mind. It's the need to form a bond with a significant other that causes people to stumble into the norm of pairing off but really, it tends to blind people from the truth, since so they are so 'in love' they can't see past anything else. Trust me, I've had enough cases to prove my point," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest, though he did realize the ramble that flowed from his mouth. He took a small breath and faced her again. "All I know is that I don't want things to go back to the way they were."

Molly tilted her head. She wasn't expecting him to say that at all. He once again proved that he could very well be full of surprises. She thought about moments like this one for far too long. But she also tried to move on, thought about giving up, never once bothering to look back at the man who always seemed too far away, thinking she could cast away so many memories. Because it seemed easier to just let go rather than hold onto them forever. "What exactly are you saying?"

"It's a conundrum, really. I can hardly make sense of it myself and that's unusual all on its own." An easy array of laughter escaped his lips, but it was only for a moment and more held back than it should have been. "I guess what I'm trying to say or to be more precise; attempting to ask is can we give it a try? No more lies, no more hidden truths… just you and me."

Her cheeks tinged a pink color at what he proclaimed. Molly didn't want to say yes right away, it would make her seem too eager. "We can take it slow if that will help," she offered in its place. That pace was fine with her because she could wait forever for him and really, it _felt_ like she had. Her lips pulled upward, as she was unable to hold back her happiness.

"I don't really know what people do when they're together, besides the apparent," Sherlock admitted, rubbing his forehead with a hand. He wanted to shake his head, make another remark, but strangely enough, he didn't feel the need to nor did he feel a heavy weight on his shoulders anymore. His stomach was still turning though; getting himself into something new was probably the cause.

Sherlock Holmes actually having a girlfriend; who would have thought it was possible? It certainly threw him off, so anyone else would be just as shocked or more. And he most certainly didn't want to deal with Mycroft, because some way or another he would find out. And that was one issue and conversation he'd prefer to skip, if only it was possible.

He doubted his brother would do the same thing he did to John, bringing him someplace so they could talk, adding in the whole I'll pay you to watch over my brother thing, just because he was going to be his new flatmate. Maybe he should warn her not to get into a limo with Anthea, Mycroft's personal assistant, although her real name was classified.

She merely gave Sherlock a nod, though she never expected her day to turn out this way. And Molly had the feeling the reason why he was acting so off lately probably had a lot to do with what he admitted. But she wouldn't say anything about it. There was no point, really. They made it this far after all and asking him anything more on the matter could very much cause him to close off some.

Getting him to open up was hard enough in the first place, yet she never had to be pushy. It was more like just being there was enough to gain his trust and in a sense she needed it because he already had all of hers. Molly never doubted him before, believed him to be impolite at times, but never so completely offensive that she couldn't stand to be near him.

The brunette thought about it for a moment, attempting to figure out some way that the sudden jump from friends to more wasn't too drastic of a change for him. "We can start with a simple date," she said. A smile played on her lips and rather than it disappearing, it solely became more pronounced at her next words, already knowing what he was going to say before he could open his mouth. "And as much as I love working cases with you, those don't count."

"I suppose they only work out as a thank you," the youngest Holmes remarked. "I must say, the normal form of a date is exceedingly boring, nothing more than a meal and mild chatter when sitting across from one another. Where's the excitement in that?" Not that he was refusing or anything; he just preferred outings with some risk, although it was probably best to not get her involved in such things.

"We could always double date with John and Mary if that's easier," Molly suggested. He might feel less pressured that way, being surrounded by friends instead of it being just the two of them. She was sure she's told him more than once how much his company was more welcomed than he thought, but convincing him of anything, especially concerning matters such as those, was far from an easy task.

"No, that's the last thing I want. Besides, if John knew, I'd never hear the end of it." Especially after everything they went through after Sherlock told him in the first place. "I think it would be best to keep it between us for now. Once the reporters get news of this, we'd have more of a problem, not to mention the fact that you could be placed in danger because of it."

And in all probability she would be. Moriarty was smart, always was, and he used Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and John against him, putting their safety in the balance. Most people he went after were too wrapped up in their own crimes they never did anything to him personally before. But he couldn't afford to take the chance, not with Molly or anyone else for that matter.

Her gaze was directed away for a few seconds. She understood why but hiding things didn't feel right. However, she supposed it wouldn't be that bad of it was for a short while. "Fine, but John and Mary have the right to know eventually. I really don't think you want them finding out on their own." He wouldn't admit it but she already knew how he felt, how much his friendship with the army doctor meant.

"And since we are supposed to compromise or whatever," he mentioned with a slight sigh and roll of a hand. "I'm sure I can suffer through a dinner as long as it isn't too crowded and we don't stay long." He didn't exactly have a frown on his face, it was more of a neutral expression, nevertheless her smile after his proposal changed his countenance to one that matched her own. "I guess we have an agreement then." And although he wouldn't say it, he had a feeling this, them being together, wouldn't be that bad at all.

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><p><strong>Progress because they're finally together and it only took eleven chapters! I feel like this story is going to be pretty long since I still have so many ideas, hopefully I don't drag it out to the point where people get tired of it. As for how in character they were, I had a really hard time and I'm not sure if they were close at all, I guess that's something for you guys to decide. So, please review and let me know what you thought.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I actually have over 200 people following this story, that's so amazing. I never thought I would have that many at all. I really appreciate all the feedback though. I think this chapter turned out pretty well and I hope you guys do too.**

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><p>Sherlock moved a few steps, the last one only being half taken before he turned around and started in the other direction. He clasped his hands together and brought them up to his chin in his usual thinking manner. An abundance of papers were spread about the room, a few stuck on the wall in various places while others lay carelessly on the floor.<p>

Mrs. Hudson had come by earlier to leave him some tea but by now it was cold after being untouched for hours. She even tried coming back a second time to get some dusting done but Sherlock pretty much turned her away as he started to shout, not necessarily at her it merely strung from the simplistic boredom that hit him in the morning. A case was finished not that long ago, yet another was needed, even a small one would do.

Regardless, nothing was interesting enough, he could point out the answer from a glance at the countless emails sent to him. Those were obvious. He even attempted to call Greg but nothing was happening at the moment. The ennui he faced could have dissipated with ease if something came up, an attention-grabbing murder normally did the trick but as of right now none of the people committing them, since killers were always hiding about in the day and making their moves at night, more or less anyway, had slipped up yet.

Although Sherlock heard the door to his flat open, in fact he realized someone would be coming in as soon as a car pulled up, he basically ignored it and went on speaking as if no interruption would occur. His eyes closing for a brief second, only to reopen at the sound of an all too familiar voice, the tone always held in a composed and outright epitome.

"Talking to yourself, I see. Some things never change," Mycroft mentioned, the end of his umbrella being tapped on the wooden surface of the floor three times before he sauntered further inside. Without having to ask, seeing as neither did when coming into the opposites home's, he took a seat in the chair across from the one Sherlock normally sat himself in.

The younger of the two paused and glanced around, his brows furrowing for just a moment. "Molly left already… Oh, it's past noon. What are you doing here? Wait, I already know the answer to that question." Walking up to the window, he turned his attention to the road outside the building. No cars, hardly any people. A sigh fled his lips at the scene. "Quiet, calm, peaceful… isn't it hateful?" he expressed, tipping his head backwards.

With a quick step to the left, he approached his desk and started going through the papers on top, tossing the ones he didn't need into the air in every directions as he did so. Most only fell a few feet from him, others spread out in a wider area depending on how hard he threw them, which really only added more to the untidy and unclean ground.

"Looking for a case?" the older asked with a suppressed sort of smile, pushing off one if the sheets that landed on the arm of the chair. "Or maybe you're just trying to keep busy. Either way, you should stop making such a mess. It's unsightly." He turned his head a tad once Sherlock looked over, stopping what he was doing. "Now, since you anticipated my visit, let's have a little chat, shall we?"

"What for? There's no point," he remarked. When Mycroft cleared his throat and raised his brows, Sherlock let out a small groan off annoyance as he paced back some prior to stepping onto the small table in front of the couch to get over. His chair was then occupied, displeasure evidently decorated on his face. "Might as well get this over with."

"Quite right. Miss Hooper, or should I be less formal and address her as Molly now?" he asked, his mouth pressing together after the words came out. "A romantic relationship… How very maudlin of you, dear brother. You're probably wondering how I knew. Just think a little. I'm sure you can figure it out on your own without me having to explain it myself."

"Clearly," Sherlock mentioned with a roll of his eyes. "It was my credit card usage. After John became my flatmate, you upgraded my surveillance status, meaning I would be watched even closer, but it wasn't only me, it was everyone I came in contact will. Then there was the little security faux pas in Baskerville that made you direct your attention to every time I used my card for something out of the ordinary, or yours for that matter. Sorry, I nicked it when I was bored but you probably knew that already and want it back. Obviously, the fact that I reserved a table for two at a restaurant yesterday night fell into that category."

"Normally, you would think nothing of the transaction," he continued saying, bringing his fingertips together. "It was the location, further away than I would go to eat since I typically don't make reservations, especially at high-end places. On top of that it was out of John and Mary's usual area of dining, so you could assume I went out of my way to make sure, if they so happened to go out on the same day, I wouldn't run into them. Seeing as I didn't pick someplace nearby for convenience, which is what I would have done on any standard occasion, that could only lead to the obvious conclusion of a date."

As he went on speaking, he kept his eyes focused forward. "And you knew it wasn't for a case because you constantly seem to be aware of the ones I take, with Lestrade no less because he appears to do whatever you ask of him, while the other clients come straight to me. Lastly, you recognized I was going with Molly, not because her name was written down, you didn't even bother to check that, no, you knew because I called her shortly after, considering the fact that she left for a late shift at the morgue."

"Having my mobile bugged, troublesome thing really, though I've known about it for so long now, it certainly doesn't make a difference to me. You merely check caller identification, given that listening to my conversations would be pointless and the same goes for reading my texts. Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock inquired, tilting his head down a bit after the question was asked.

"Right on spot, as expected but you did miss one minor detail," he said, twirling the handle of his umbrella. "I know you, brother mine. Undoubtedly something, or to be more precise someone, was taking hold of your thoughts more than usual. Your posture, your words, even the way you acted gave it all away. I didn't mention it at the time but I assumed we'd be in this little predicament at some point. Might I be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

"Don't be ridiculous, brother dear," Sherlock said, his tone a tad irritated. "Yes, it's true that we are dating but there's no need for you to jump to conclusions." He shook his head. The idea did cross his mind but he didn't linger on it. There was no reason to this early on in the relationship. "Oh, I see, afraid to be called uncle?" His voice this time was more teasing, but held in a brisk manner.

"Appalled, actually," Mycroft stated, his expression something akin to the word. "You do love being dramatic though. Aren't you the one that said love is a dangerous disadvantage, a chemical defect on the loser's side? Which I do agree with you on but then again, here we are having this discussion. Must I remind you of Irene Adler? The two of you seemed to be getting along rather nicely."

Sherlock's jaw tightened a bit upon the mention of The Woman. His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair with a resounding few taps. It wasn't hard for the sound to echo in such deafening silence. How long has it been since her name was mentioned between them? Distraction, he could agree with that term but that's all she was. And perhaps she even kept his interest but lingering on the subject was pointless all the same.

"She had feelings for me, not the other way around. Get your facts straight," he expressed, pronouncing each word of his last sentence with small pauses in between. "And what about you?" He now turned his attention towards his brother. "Getting married, it's what people do, remember? You said it after all, but then again you're just living in a world of goldfish. Must be rather lonely."

"We are not getting into that again." Mycroft reset his position, moving so his elbows rested on his knees. "I told you not to get involved, didn't I? And before you attempt to correct me and say you're not, there's no way you could convince me otherwise. You getting a girlfriend, as shocking as that sounds, is only the first step. I'll try to be delicate on the matter-"

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," the youngest Holmes averred in a sarcastic tone. He took hold of his violin, which was placed on the side table for easy reach, and started strumming some of the strings. "Sorry, do go on." His hand momentarily left the instrument as he made a small gesture with it, further indicating him to proceed.

"If Miss Hooper was going to marry that Tom fellow, of course she wants the normal domestic lifestyle." Needless to say it went without question that he knew a great deal about her life as well. "The question that really remains is if you do, if you could honestly see yourself settling down, with children, no less. Imagine the horrors of _those _Christmas dinners."

The consulting detective's eyes narrowed in slight annoyance before giving a withered look. Mycroft's views on many matters were already known to him, but kids, that hadn't even stayed in his thoughts for more than a few seconds. It was just another thing that didn't matter this early, especially since he and Molly just worked things out last night.

"Yes, well, you painted yourself a wonderful picture." The bow was now taken hold of and swung up and down, the whipping of the air heard. "Things aren't going to change. I'll still be working on cases with John… Whenever he comes around that is and Molly and I will be together. I see no problem. Getting straight to the point, your concern is not needed," Sherlock insisted.

"Oh, but it is always there." Mycroft leaned back again, letting things settle between them. There wasn't a single moment when he didn't worry about his brother and he was sure the notion wasn't going to disappear anytime soon. "Can I rightfully assume you are reluctant to tell your so-called best friend about the new arrangement? I'm sure he would be immensely happy to hear of it."

Ignoring the fact that John somewhat knew what was going on, he said nothing; merely let the bow slid down the violin's strings just once before replying. "Not necessarily, he probably won't even notice anyway. Obviously, I wouldn't lie straight to his face if he asked but the likelihood of something like that happening is slim at best. He and Mary have a baby on the way, after all."

"A child is quite an interference with everyday life, it changes everything." Marriage did the same thing, both affecting the way a person lived their life. "I take it you'd rather not have me speak with her like I did when John became your flatmate, hence the reason I didn't bother, for now anyway, but feel as if we should drop this petty feud between us. It's been going on for far too long."

"Why? So we can get together every Friday for fish and chips? Or maybe we'll sit at the Diogenes Club like old times? I'll pass." A touch of amusement was embedded in his voice but no reservation on the topic was spared. It was rare for them to do things together, yet what they were doing now, talking and such, was about all they went out of their way for.

"I figured as much. I was simply placing it out there," Mycroft said somewhat languidly. "But if we could get back to the subject of your girlfriend, there is just one thing I would like to know. It is extremely evident that you get yourself in risky situations on a daily basis, much to my dismay of course, but you do realize much like what happed to John on several occasions, Miss Hooper will probably be put in danger at some point because of your job. Then what would you do?"

"Everyone I come in contact with is a potential target someone could use to get to me. She already knows that." And he was extremely aware of it as well. "You're just worried I'll be stuck in a situation similar to what Moriarty placed me in." Although he waved off the worry, his eyes never left his older sibling's. The concept was something that rested heavily on his shoulders for some time now.

"Can't fake a death twice you know, people may catch on. Just be sure to take care of yourself, brother mine, I do hate legwork," Mycroft informed him. "I should however, be on my way. I've said all I needed to." In all honestly, he just wanted to know where his thoughts were on the subject matter and to make sure he knew the possible troubles that would surely follow. He stood and with a gentle push of his foot, he slid some of the papers aside. "I hope you do something about this mess."

"Certainly, because making my flat to your preference is my number one priority," Sherlock said with a small huff, his gaze falling from his brothers. Before Mycroft could leave, he placed his violin aside and picked up something else. "Since you really don't have to be anywhere of importance, judging by your attire and time of day it is, how about a game?"

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><p>Molly left Bart's Hospital around her standard time and raised her hand in the air to catch a cab. The ride was quiet, only a few words of direction passed between her and the driver. The day had seemed rather long, a lot of work and an unfortunate amount of bodies coming in. Nothing significant happened and really all she wanted to do was get back to 221B, especially since her conversation with Sherlock was cut short last night.<p>

When the car pulled up to the curb, the brunette paid the man and hurried up inside, attempting to escape the cold as soon as possible. Sometimes it was easy to forget what time of year it was. After going up to the second floor and entering Sherlock's flat, she was a bit surprised to see Mycroft there, though she effortlessly put on a smile.

"Ah, Molly, you're back earlier than normal," the youngest Holmes mentioned, keeping his eyes on what he was doing rather than glancing in her direction. Attempting to not act completely different towards her when Mycroft was around, he continued and picked up one of the game pieces and put it into place. "You're move," he told his brother.

"Just by a few minutes," she said, taking off her coat. Going into the kitchen, Molly grabbed a can of cat food for Toby and opened it before placing it on the ground. The cat immediately came out of Sherlock's room and started eating right away. Looking over in their direction, she tilted her head to the side. "So, why are you two playing Connect Four?"

"Because no one ever wants to play Cluedo with me," the detective stated, sounding a bit resentful towards the fact. He and John had once before, when his boredom slipped into a higher level than it usually did, but that didn't go over very well. He did suspect she probably thought they'd be occupying themselves with chess rather than a childish game.

Mycroft shook his head a bit as he put another piece in one of the slots. "That's because someone doesn't like to follow the rules. They are there for a reason, you can't just ignore them." Half the time he didn't even know why he bothered agreeing to play board games at all, it was a waste but he supposed there wasn't a problem holding onto some old childhood habits.

"Well, the rules aren't always right," he muttered back, like they've had the discussion before. "Besides, sometimes the only possible solutions can't be found within the game's instructions." He paused for a second. "It looks like you lose again, just when we were about to be tied too." Sliding the bottom out, all the pieces fell to the table. "Up for another round?"

"I think not. I should be on my way." Mycroft stood from the chair and took hold of his umbrella, bringing it up some so it wouldn't drag across the ground. He was about to head through the door but stopped when he approached the brunette. "Oh and, Miss Hooper, best of luck with Sherlock, he can be quite a handful. Be sure to keep him out of trouble."

She didn't get a chance to reply before he left the two of them alone, though she supposed he meant well. "What was that all about?" she asked, turning in Sherlock's direction. Part of her was happy to see them getting along, she knew no matter how offhandedly he spoke about Mycroft, he did care about him but he'd never admit to it.

"Don't mind him, I hardly do." He shrugged off the subject prior to putting the game away; technically he just placed it aside instead of with the others. "He already knows. That's the reason he came over in the first place. I pretty much expected a visit anyway." While speaking, he walked towards her until only a foot of open space rested between them.

Maybe he wasn't the best when it came to relationships but he knew what he wanted and she was standing right in front of him. Now that he finally accepted his feelings and even admitted them to her, things between them should flow a lot easier. Although part of him was concerned about the future, as his brother so graciously reminded him of.

He already found the idea of marriage unnecessary, made his point quite clear the day John and Marry wed. And adding children on top of it, he simply couldn't imagine. Not that he really needed to think about any of those things right now. He just wanted to focus on being with her, trying to make things work despite his lack of experience in the area.

Taking hold of her hands, almost hesitantly since showing affection in this kind of manner was still new to him, he brought them up some. Her fingers were a tad cold from being outside, but it was easily dismissed. "It seems like we're finally alone," he stated, somewhat grateful for the moment of silence in the room, even if it intensified the itching sensation taking over his body.

It felt a bit weird but oddly comfortable as well, and he wanted nothing more than for them to stay this way. Everything seemed so normal with them like this, and not as different as he anticipated. Sherlock suspected that the other feelings, a slight reeling of his head and simplicity of being drawn to her, were ordinary things to undergo. Therefore, there was no use pushing them aside now or trying to ignore them.

When she smiled up at him, the mere change in expression caused a small grin to tease on the ends of his mouth. "I have a feeling we won't be for all that longer though," Sherlock mumbled into the space between them. He leaned in a bit more, almost able to close the distance separating their lips until a knock was heard on the door. Having to abruptly pull away from her, he took a rather large step back.

Mrs. Hudson came into the room, not realizing she interrupted them. "I just came to see how you were since you seemed a bit irritated this morning," she mentioned, looking towards the detective. She always felt the incentive to check up on him. "I just cleaned up yesterday and the floor's already a mess. You really should pick up all those papers. I'm not your housekeeper."

"I was bored," he simply replied, ignoring the remark about the state of his flat. Moving further away from Molly, he went back to his chair, stepping on it before lowering down some. "I don't understand what normal people do to keep themselves entertained. Is it really that difficult for Lestrade to find me a case to work on," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples.

"Oh, Sherlock, you didn't even touch your food," the older woman said, approaching the counter she placed it on earlier. "If you don't eat something soon, you're going to get sick. I'll just stick this in the refrigerator so you can heat it up later." When she opened up the door, her expression changed to something along the lines of dismayed. "Is that a bag of fingers? Why are they in the fridge of all places?"

"Where else was I supposed to put them?" Sherlock questioned, suddenly standing up again, his movements quick as he picked up his laptop and started looking through a few emails. "The freezer's already full. Besides, I need them in there for an experiment I've been working on. So, if you could just put them back where you got them."

Shaking her head some, she turned towards the brunette. "Molly, how are you doing with the apartment searching? I'd imagine you have a few places in mind by now. Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you need." A light smile was presented on her face as she spoke. It was always a bit sad for her to see people leave so soon, since many didn't like tolerating all the noise coming from this room.

"Actually, she'll be staying here for a while longer, fully moved in by the end of the week," Sherlock told the woman. He glanced up from the computer screen, catching the slight surprise in Molly's face, since they really never discussed the whole living together situation yet. "I don't mind the company and at this rate finding a cheap place she can afford is pretty much unlikely."

When she glanced at him, to perhaps question him or raise her brows in silent confusion, she saw the slight nod he made and then turned away some and instead started interlocking her fingers. For some reason it took her a moment to say something, but she decided to go along with him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to spring it on you all at once. I really only have a few things left at Tom's to bring over. I hope you don't mind."

"I think it's wonderful, having another woman around will do him some good." Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to sit, disregarding the look he gave at the remark. "And it was nice to see you and your brother talking with each other. In the end, family is really all we have left. You know, I really got along well with my husband's, but at that time no one really knew what he was up to. It was a nice change of pace from-"

"Weren't you in the middle of something?" Sherlock questioned, knowing she would have kept talking. "The traces of flour on you dress suggest that you were baking, a pie no doubt due to the constancy and dough left between your fingernails. And judging by the time you put it on the oven I'd say the timer will be going off just about… now." As he said that a beeping sound was heard. "I suggest you take it out before it burns."

"I'll bring some up for you later. Oh, and Molly, you'll need to sign more papers if you're going to be staying longer. Just stop by whenever you can, my door is always open," she said, before hurrying out of the room, though she made a point to take the cold tea resting on the table from the morning with her. The food, however, was left on the counter.

"Did you really have to rush her out like that?" Molly asked, shaking her head some in slight disapproval. She took a small pause, getting herself to ask what she really wanted to. "You actually want me to move in officially with you?" She was flattered; happy even though their relationship just started. Did he think so highly of what they had despite it being nearly a day? She supposed he did because Sherlock wouldn't have said anything if he didn't.

On top of that, Molly was aware of how he felt when it came to keeping what was important to him. And yet, he by no means had to say it outright. She saw it in the way he quickly became attached to John, learned even more when he admitted what was happening with Moriarty and expressed why he needed her help. He simply cared about the people who were in his life, though she didn't feel the need to mention it to him.

"Of course. Like I said, you probably won't find another place anyway." The detective placed his computer aside and once again approached her, seeing as now they were alone, for a longer time he hoped. There were still a few hours remaining before their dinner reservation, so further interruption was still possible. "And having you here is something I want."

It was sudden and tad unexpected when she took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him, having to go up on her toes a bit to fully reach him. The move in was somewhat quick, her fingers lightly clutched the fabric of his shirt. He stood there for a moment unsure of what to do since no one had ever actually hugged him like she was, with so much care and ease. When he heard a thank you come out quietly, he slowly brought his arms around her, letting them lightly rest against her back.

He still wasn't used to it, the touch of another, one of comfort. But it was funny, he didn't find himself pulling away or awkwardly stiffening up. Sherlock didn't even open his mouth in question of the action. In fact, the warmth conveyed from the embrace was more relieving than he thought possible. His nerves were a bit frayed from the act but she immediately soothed them.

Maybe it eased something in his chest, making his resolve to just accept things and be with her less difficult. And if he wasn't sure of his answer to his query before, of if things could work out in the long run, he was somewhat more positive. Both her company and her presence weren't all that bad, they were easy to fall into and usually that would cause him to back away, block her out but he didn't. He already knew she expressed her emotions openly, her unexpected gesture a prime example, meaning it was just something he also had to get used to.

After a few moments Molly tore away some. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just hug you like that," she told him, quickly embarrassed, her happiness taking charge over her. She was about to keep talking only to be silenced by the look in his piercing eyes. How many times had she gone mute by his stare in the past? It was probably too many instances to count. There wasn't any time to further think about it because he once again closed the space between them.

The kiss was just as sweet as before, almost searing the second his lips touched hers. It never really went much further, as he seemed a bit unsure where to place his hands, for one rested on the side of her face and the other closer to her shoulder. She never thought kissing him could make her feel lightheaded and grounded at the same time.

When he eventually pulled away, she brought her hand over her mouth for a moment, still feeling a tantalizing tingle. "I'm getting the feeling that you actually like doing that," Molly somewhat teased. He seemed to relax into it quite easily, even if it was only the second kiss they shared. Looking up at him, she couldn't subdue the rate at which her heart was beating, yet it always sped up when they were together.

A shrug was given, attempting to play off the fact that he did enjoy it, although he probably wasn't all that convincing. "By the way your pulse just increased," he said once he lightly took hold of her wrist, "I'd say you did as well. Generally, that's a normal reaction and is to be expected when with someone you care about. After all, I am your type."

"You heard me say that?" she asked, her cheeks turning pink as she saw the small smirk coming to his lips. The brunette simply uttered those words after he thanked her for what she did for him and congratulated her on her engagement with Tom. That conversation wasn't one she could easily forget, honestly, any discussion they had stayed in her mind because each one was important to her.

"The door wasn't shut all the way," Sherlock told her matter-of-factly. He walked away and sat down on the couch, his head leaning against the back. "Now we just need to kill a few hours of boredom. Having nothing to work on is so incredibly frustrating. Have any suggestions? John usually recommended watching some kind of program on the telly, just something to occupy my time but his ideas never worked."

Molly sat next to him. "Why don't you tell me about one of your cases? That should make the time go by faster," she suggested. During his best man speech, he seemed to like talking about them, so she figured it was worth a try. When he gave a somewhat sideway nod in agreement, Molly got more comfortable next to him, knowing some could be long. After naming a few, they settled on one and quite effortlessly went on about it.

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><p><strong>I don't know why but I just love writing conversations between Sherlock and Mycroft, it's a lot of fun. So, next chapter will be Sherlock and Molly's date, if there's anything in particular that you guys want to happen just let me know either in a review or you can simply PM me and I'll see if I can put it in because right now I'm not all that sure how I want it to go. I would also like to say their relationship will be progressing slowly, I'm not sure about you guys but I hate when I'm reading a story and after people finally get together they're just all over each other. I feel as if they (mainly Sherlock) would need to settle into things before being completely comfortable and open. But that's just my opinion. Please review!<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**First of all, I would like to apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter out. I had a major case of writer's block and had to take a break from writing, which in the end helped me. I would also like to thank all the people who have been leaving reviews, I really do appreciate it. I hope this chapter is to everyone's satisfaction.**

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><p>The immediate atmosphere of the restaurant Sherlock and Molly entered was calming, nothing too fancy or elaborate when it came to décor. It was suitable for a first date as it was mildly crowded and had a rather relaxing feel to it. Low murmurs were heard about the room as casual conversation floated around, some couples knowing one another a long time, others whose relationship scarcely begun.<p>

Seeing as a reservation was made, they got their table a few moments after arriving. Molly took a second to admire the place after getting settled in her seat; quite happy about the choice, well technically, she would have been fine with anywhere he picked as long as she was with him. In truth, the brunette had spent an unreasonably amount of time wanting this, but it paid off a great deal in the end as they were now together, despite how odd it would probably seem to others.

What would everyone else think? Their friends, family even? Sherlock Holmes had never been the guy to pursue a relationship or known to hold any romantic attachments. Surely it would be a shock. Though on her end, her feelings were always seen as unrequited ones, holding little meaning in the spectrum of things. People knew, she was sure of that, John probably realizing the moment they met, picking up on the way her gaze was always on the consulting detective.

To be fair, Molly never tried to hide it only never said anything directly. His deduction on her present was enough to let everyone, supposing they weren't already aware, see just how in love with him she really was. The look on Sherlock's face after he read the tag, realizing it was him who she was giving it to, and the fact that he apologized was something no one was used to, not from him.

That event seemed so long ago, the years just appeared to slip by without notice. He had changed and it was presented on his return, how he asked her to solve cases with him and expressed gratitude for her help, everything she had ever done for him. To think after it all, they would be lead here, sitting across from each other, together as a boyfriend and girlfriend.

It was so surreal in a way and she almost had to hide the small smile threatening to break free after seeing the almost uncomfortable way he shifted in his chair, as if trying to relax himself into the idea of loosening up. Whenever he had gone out in the past, in most scenarios, he was working and had to be on constant alert. However, he was very capable of enjoying another's company and holding conversation.

She took hold of her newly placed down menu and glanced over at him. "You don't need to look so out of sorts. I've been on plenty of first dates before, well not recently of course because I was with Tom," Molly mentioned, pausing soon after. Perhaps bringing him up when they were out wasn't the best idea. "What I mean to say is its okay to be nervous."

"I seldom am," he remarked upon her statement, though the clearing of his throat following his reply proved otherwise. "Besides, the only difference now is we are more than friends and simply on our first official outing. Though I suppose one would feel that way, more or less, when with the person they care for on a deeper level, such as I am right now."

It was times like these when Molly wondered how any girl could not fall for him, when he spoke such meaningful verses as if it was the simplest thing in the world. When in truth, he hadn't always said the kindest of things. Then there was that grin of his, a real one, forming across his mouth. It was merely too hard to ignore and just as infectious, much like everything about Sherlock Holmes. Honestly, she really never thought she could cause it to happen, with him showing no pretense on the matter either.

Blushing a bit, she moved her head down, causing her long hair to fall past her shoulders, for she wore it down rather than keeping it in pulled back. "You know, seeing this side of you is nice. It's different. Then again, I guess there are a lot of things I don't know about you, even though we've met a long time ago. Maybe I tend to see you more kind than others though," she openly expressed.

The fondness underlying her response softened his features, her sweetness was undeniable, but there was something more to it, more to her words, to the way she spoke of him. There was pure longing in her tone, one of compassion and understanding that he recognized only because it was a familiar feeling, an all-too common, and unwanted at first, companion of his as of late.

"Another thing I rarely do, I presume," he mentioned, giving a slight nod. "You think too highly of me, always have, and too modestly of yourself, especially when in front of me. However, humility isn't often seen in others nowadays." On the other hand, his company didn't expand past a small group and he didn't meet anyone other than those in his Homeless Network or criminals he was out to catch.

The conversation halted when their drink order was taken but resumed right after. "Depends on who you're with, some people can surprise you." Like the man sitting across from her did constantly, particularly as of late. Looking at the list of food, she debated on a couple before talking again. "There's so much to choose from. What are you going to have?"

"Not sure," Sherlock said, now glancing through as well. He never really ate when out, it was more of an occasional thing. He did take into the account how diverse the ambiance was when with her alone like this. "I'd avoid the first few meals on the menu if I were you, not the best choice after slicing up cadavers all day. A pasta dish might be more appetizing."

"And it's never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?" she jokingly asked in a light manner, recalling the time they had a similar discussion during mealtime at the hospital. "That would probably be the best option." She wasn't at all taken aback by what her job entailed; granting most would be, seeing as she was accustomed to it by now and sought the profession in the first place.

Deciding to go with something along the same lines, he placed his menu aside. It was almost slightly awkward but all he had to do was look over at her and the feeling returned to a calming one, when he didn't have to try so hard and end up pushing her away. "I hope this place is alright, I looked up a few and figured this one was better suited for us."

There was a pause as she caught the way his hands pulled back and rest on his lap. She could practically feel the emotion he was trying to keep at bay, his want to be here was evident, and he merely wasn't sure how to be. "It's lovely. I'm actually surprised you got us a reservation here. It only opened about a week ago and I figured they'd be booked for months."

"Not surprising but the owner owed me a favor. I got his son out of some trouble a while back, could have gone to jail for a long time. The police simply lacked the ability to see what was right in front of them. It was an easy case, done in a day," he explained, remembering the event. It happened before he faked his death but the time gone and slander of his name didn't diminish his worth in the minds of others.

"I knew you helped out a lot of people, even if you turn some away, I just never realized how much they were willing to do in return," Molly said as the waiter came back another time, bringing their beverages and placing them down. As their orders were taken, she rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward as bit while she told the man what she wanted.

Once the menus were gone and the one serving them disappeared into the kitchen, Sherlock turned to her, his head canting to the side. "I also wouldn't advise smiling so politely at our waiter, Molly. Judging from his attentiveness towards the women he's taking orders from, lack of care when it comes to his wedding ring, the fact that he has quite a roving eye, and just slipped his number under your drink, it's evident that he's a well-known Casanova."

"What?" she asked, somewhat disbelievingly. When she lifted up her glass a piece of paper was indeed there, causing her brows to furrow. She picked it up and unfolded it. "I didn't even notice. Now that you mention it, he does look the type." Of course he would catch it, constantly observing even when it wasn't necessary. She shrugged it off, since she only cared about being with him.

"There goes his tip," Sherlock muttered, taking it from her and crinkling the small sheet up some. With their previous discussion diminished, he remained quiet and brought his fingers together, placing his hands on the table. There was no need to struggle for a topic, they usually came without strife but he was a tad lost on what to bring up.

Molly hoped this wasn't too boring for him; he was used to excitement and went after it too. A sip of her drink was taken in slight uneasiness. It was wonderful to be here with him, something she never thought possible bearing in mind past events, but it also felt a bit weighty. She was trying too hard not to mess things up and he probably realized that as well despite not saying anything.

His eyes roamed the room for a moment. "This place reminds me of the restaurant John was going to propose to Mary in. Of course, he never got the chance that evening because I showed up. My timing could have been a bit better, I heard I do have a bad sense of it," Sherlock mildly mentioned as he reaching for his drink, attempting to dispel the little tension circling the table.

"You probably could have picked a better spot," the brunette added with a gesture of her hand. "He was pretty angry, upset too, and kind of attacked you a couple of times." Part of her wondered why he was so reluctant to tell his best friend of the plan, but wasn't about to ask, getting the feeling it was best not to put it between them.

"You've been speaking to Mary, haven't you?" he questioned, somewhat knowingly. From his knowledge the two took the time to talk every now and again as they started to form a companionship. "Afterwards, she also brought forth the detail about how I really have no clue about human nature, which I insistently agreed with. I never seem to gain much understanding on the subject."

"I don't know if that's entirely true," Molly replied, easing down as they went back and forth. He was certainly more comprehending than he gave himself credit for. "Anderson came by the hospital quite a lot, trying to see if I was part of what happened and simply hiding it from everyone. He was rather pushy sometimes but on the right track, no less."

"Not all that shocking. He put a lot into the little speculation group he formed. Waste of time, really," Sherlock offhandedly mentioned. "He could never figure it out on his own; the plan was too elaborate for his mind. And yet, he was still determined to disbelieve what I told him. Some of his theories were extremely ridiculous and very improbable but I suppose the imagination is rather expansive and indirect with detail."

Their food was eventually brought over and Molly averted her eyes from the man as Sherlock did the exact opposite, watching him carefully and making sure it was noticeable. The brunette knew it wasn't jealousy fueling him to do so it was a sense of protectiveness, a tad overdone in her opinion but he left no room to complain, he cared and that meant a great deal to her.

She didn't have to say anything else on the matter though. They kept a good level of conversation once they started eating and it didn't feel forced either. Funnily enough, simple, everyday subjects were spent the most on; Sherlock's work being thrown in every now and again. Molly ended up listening more than speaking herself but in all honesty, she didn't mind.

Just as the detective was in the middle of explaining something his phone went off, to which he read the text but ignored giving a reply. "It's just Gavin. He knows if I don't get back to him within a few minutes it means I'm busy." He stuffed his cell back into his pocket and faced her again. "It's probably something I can handle tomorrow, no need to worry."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want something to happen just because we're on a date," Molly told him, knowing Lestrade wouldn't have contacted him if not important. "And I'm pretty sure you meant Greg. I don't understand how you can forget his name so easily when you can remember so many other things without a problem. John made a few comments on his blog about it too."

"It gets deleted rather quickly," Sherlock stated somewhat absently. "Though I do recommend you stop reading what he writes, that or John stops inflicting his opinions on the world, whichever comes first. Regarding your question, I'm quite content waiting until tomorrow and he would have called if the case was serious. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I left, though I do hate to use the term so openly."

"I'm sure you'll get used to it after a while," she mentioned, almost hesitating to say it. "I don't want to seem too forward or pushy on the matter, but could you ever see yourself moving past dating and actually getting married? I just figured since we've known each other so long it was okay to bring up but you don't have to answer if you don't want to." Plus Molly supposed it would be best to avoid talking about the more physical aspects, at least for now.

He was silent for a moment; time spent eating for a few moments, aware whatever he said the sentence would fall short. "I never thought of it before and I certainly never assumed I'd be in the position of having to ponder it," he said, an inflection of uncertainty staining the tone of his voice as he gave a vague answer. Her relationship went far with Tom and she probably wanted some security on the topic. "I suppose I'm… open to the idea."

John wed Mary within a short time and he did state how he felt about the whole marriage matter. The point wasn't easily seen to him, yet now that he was with Molly, Sherlock was to a certain degree able to discern the appeal of wanting to make it official. Still, weariness was projected on all aspects. He couldn't exactly say no, not wanting to dash the whole concept off the table.

It shouldn't be so grueling though, to tell her what was swirling around in his head, to say how he felt, but no words seem to do justice, no matter how he compiled them, what he formulated, it all seemed so wrong, so inadequate to speak out loud. He wanted to be with her, that much was true, but making such a huge jump into the future, when things were still settling, was unnerving.

"Mycroft would go on about that for a while," he felt inclined to add, to get the topic smoothed out some. "Quite so because I would do the same to him, then again he's even less into the whole concept of developing any sort of romantic attachments than I am. Doesn't want any friends either. Who else does he really converse with if not me, our parents, occasionally John, and Anthea?" He left the question in the air, not expecting an answer.

"Your brother doesn't seem like the marrying type just from the way he is and maybe a tad unapproachable too," Molly said, almost done with her food. The two of them exchanged of a few words every so often but never had an actual exchange of dialog, however, she was sure he wouldn't waste his time. The eldest Holmes had a pretty demanding job, anything concerning the government was.

"He prefers to be alone, thought I did as well. As it turns out, having people around isn't a bad thing," he mentioned, a short nod given. "I'm sure my brother won't be saying anything like that soon, not like I expect him to anyway" In the end it wasn't any of his business, nor did he really care to make it. They both had their own lives to live and he rather detested the fact that Mycroft pushed his way into his with his concern, no doubt, but accepted it without making a huge fuss.

Seeing as she was finished, he didn't make it a point to stay longer than necessary, not more than a couple of minutes. Although, Sherlock ate a large portion of his meal, it wasn't entirely eaten, satisfied enough with that, he paid the bill and headed out of the restaurant with Molly at his side. The night went by rather quickly, as did their meal, but it went well in his opinion, considering he never been out before. And from the smile on her face, he assumed she felt the same.

It was already dark, the coverage of the sky loosely filled with clouds and a slight chill was detectable in the air every time the wind picked up. The stillness was relaxing and the streets were almost empty, only people in small groups walking past. The detective preferred it this way, when it was quiet and not so filled with useless noise and ennui of everyday life.

"Hope you don't mind walking back, cabs seem a bit low tonight," Sherlock said as they started to take a few steps. Although somewhat unsure, he extended his hand out to take hers. "This is what couples do, right? Hold hands? I've seen people do it when they're together. I'm not sure what the appeal is though." A shrug was given but he waited for her fingers to interlock with his.

"I never thought much on why. In a way it makes you feel closer to one another," Molly explained, taking his hand. He really was clueless when it came to the actual concept of a relationship. Understanding the signs, but being able to see them was much different than experiencing them. Still, he was putting in an effort and in the end, she couldn't complain.

"You remember when we first met, right?" the youngest Holmes asked, glancing down at her. "At the morgue. I came in asking to see three corpses and then later asked for a decapitated head, which was probably not the best idea to do without explain why." He pressed his mouth together and angled his head to the side, thinking back for a moment.

"How could I forget, you came off pretty arrogantly, though I would say that is rather usual of you." Molly knew he wouldn't take any offense to her words seeing as they were the truth after all. Despite that, she couldn't stop herself from liking him and always thought of it as love at first sight, but she was more of a romantic. However, it was clear how uninterested he was in her at the time. "Why are you asking?"

"Curiosity, I suppose," he offhandedly remarked, fixing his scarf some. "I assumed you would recall the day just the same. We met years ago and yet it doesn't feel that long, same with everyone else." They may have known each other for what felt like forever, yet he never took the chance to even spend more than a few minutes and if he did whatever case he was working on held all his attention.

"Time has a way of going by fast," she added, which was true enough. It seemed like just yesterday he returned, showing up unexpectedly in the locker room of the hospital, asking her to help with a few jobs. "I was wondering has John even called you yet? I know he's busy and all with Mary and a baby on the way, but I just figured he would have."

"No, not since the last assignment we worked on. It's fine, I don't expect him to. Like you said, he's busy," he told her, pulling his eyes to the side. That wasn't completely honest of him to say. He didn't think his friend would drop everything, but he figured they'd at least be talking. It seemed like that wasn't holding to be true and it was rather disappointing. Sherlock still needed John around, when he wasn't there everything was a bit off, not that he was incapable of living his life without him.

She could see just from his expression he wasn't okay with how things were. He was happy being with her, that much was clear, but John was his best friend and flatmate for a long time. "I'm sure he'll come around," Molly told him, though he made no attempt to reply, she felt his fingers tighten around hers. She smiled fairly sadly at that, knowing he'd never admit anything out loud, not yet anyway.

As they walked back, a gap of silence followed, nevertheless it wasn't a tensing kind. Light droplets of water started to hit the pavement within a few minutes of their stall. "Bad night to not have an umbrella, still a bit of rain never hurt," Sherlock commented, momentarily letting go of her to slip off his jacket and place it around her shoulders, seeing as she needed it more than him.

Molly's lips pulled up in a happier way than before as she was reminded of when the consulting detective left the wedding early. He did the exact same thing and in a way, her leaving to go after him helped lead them here. It was somewhat ironic in a sense. After his fingers rejoined hers, she tugged the material of the coat closer with her free hand.

Recalling the same thing, he dipped his head down some. "Since you brought it up earlier, exactly how long were you with Tom before you decided to get married?" Sherlock asked, keeping his gaze straight ahead. The topic was something he wished to avoid, the wedding concept in general since he found no reason for it, nonetheless his interests were never bound.

"I don't know, a while, I guess," the brunette said with a small shrug. "Like I told you before, we met through friends and did a lot together. It just kind of happened." Thinking back to old relationships always made her wonder why she kept trying to move on when deep down she knew it was impossible. Conversely, it was different with Tom, he wasn't like everyone else.

"From my estimation, it was a short time. I was only gone for two years, which leaves a little timeframe. You're not the type to head into a serious relationship right away, dating, yes, but not much more. I'd give a few months, one or maybe even two, before it became something serious," he went on saying, catching her eyes. "Even if you spent a year as a couple that seems rather sudden for him to ask, although I'm sure you didn't turn him down upon the question."

"I guess it was a tad quick but everything seemed like it would work out." Her tone dropped some but not enough to notice. It wasn't until Sherlock came back did she start inquiring. Maybe a part of her still missed being with Tom, he really did love her after all, but it was wrong to fully commit herself to him when her heart wasn't truly in it, when it belonged to someone else.

"Then you were with Moriarty before him, three dates as you said. First claiming you were together and then later on stating the opposite," he said back. "You even messaged each other on your online diary. Though I don't recommend going out with someone just because they asked you out for coffee and said you have a cute nose, you shouldn't fall for flattery so easily. And were all those X's back and forth really necessary?"

"You read that?" she asked, feeing heat rush to her cheeks. "I didn't think you cared all that much, especially back then." It was open to everyone, so she really couldn't hold anything against him for it. Still, Molly was embarrassed how easily she fell into Jim's game, him in general. She avoided his gaze, realizing he would probably notice.

He treaded carefully, his feet sweeping the puddle stained pavement. "Sorry, if that came off offensively," Sherlock mentioned, realizing the questioning was a bit personal. "Of course, I would look into it. He was dangerous, more so than you could have imagined. I had to make sure you didn't get yourself into a bad situation. If he realized, even though I didn't at the time, how much you mattered to me, you also could have been threatened."

Moriarty was alone with her a lot. Thinking back to it now, it was unsettling to say the least. Obviously, he never did anything to hurt her, he wouldn't have gained anything by doing that. He simply played the role of Jim from IT, becoming Molly's boyfriend most likely to gain more information about him and to meet in an inconspicuous way.

Still, he saw the way Molly was with Tom, to some extent over affectionate mainly during the beginning of John and Mary's wedding. When it came to her and Jim, they were teasingly flirting with one another while commenting back and forth on her blog. It didn't bother him in a jealous way but he couldn't figure out exactly what it was he felt about the whole thing.

"Considering how you acted towards me it's pretty clear why he thought that way, not that I'm angry at you or anything for it," she said, turning her head to look away. Perhaps it was hurtful at the time, but nothing they needed to discuss. The rain started falling a little harder; causing her to glance up for a moment, letting the water hit her face.

"You have every right to be. I was rude and I didn't think of your feelings, though that was nothing new," the detective remarked, his voice sounding apologetic. "The fact that you can forgive me for all those things, makes me seem even less deserving of you." And that was probably always going to seem true no matter what, all the same, vexing himself on it didn't do either of the any good.

"We all have our faults. I'm evidently too trusting and I get emotionally involved in things, but you wouldn't be you if those qualities weren't there. I fell for you in spite of them. I wouldn't want you to change." Molly's lips tugged upwards again, letting a smile take hold. This was wonderful, just being with him was all she ever wanted. There was no need to hold onto the past, the future was what mattered.

There were only so many people who could say that about him and he didn't realize how much it meant until it left her mouth. "I don't know how to be any other way," he soon remarked, furrowing his brows. "Was that funny?" he then asked after a light laugh escaped. More puzzlement than before settled into his features as his gaze landed on her.

"No, it's just being with you, as in a couple, is a lot easier than I thought it would be," she told him, meeting his eyes. "I didn't expect it to be hard or anything, actually I wasn't sure what to assume. You never seemed the type to show many emotions, even though you have so many." And yet here he was being open, more so than when they were simply friends.

"I suppose, it's easier when with you. Even if you do count and matter to me, I doubt I'd be able to keep anything from you," he mentioned as he could easily hide things from everyone else. "You can read me without even trying." For the first time he actually told her that rather than merely thinking the words. She was the only one who could see, proved it upon the remark a while back, when she mentioned her father and how they were similar in a certain aspect.

"There's always someone, but I thought it would be John, not me," Molly said, as they approached the door to 221B. "He's the one who was with you all the time and knows more about you than I do." Those were reason enough to believe the army doctor would understand Sherlock Holmes better, compared to her, who only saw him on occasion.

"To an extent, yes, I would say John," he stated, stopping a few feet from the entrance. "But as of now, I'd go with you more. A while back, I asked you something. If I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am, would you still want to help me? And your answer was, what do you need. Without any hesitation, without so much as a question in speculation, you agreed. That reason, right there, is why."

Her brown hues darted away in slight bewilderment. "It's really no big deal. I just wanted to help in any way I could," she told him. Molly never expected anything in return. At first he inquired back what he could possibly need from her after she had offered and the next thing she knew, he was there telling her how much he trusted her.

Sherlock placed a kiss on her cheek this time, not because he didn't want people to catch them, the ones out in this weather, but because it showed gratitude and appreciation. The action caused her to blush, still overcome whenever he showed affection towards her, and him to feel all those sensations he tried to push away not more than a few days ago, though shoving them aside was no longer needed, he just wished they didn't come so strongly.

"Let's get inside before we're completely soaked, wouldn't want to catch a cold. It would seem as if we both have work tomorrow," the detective said once he pulled away and glanced down at his phone. As they entered the building, he closed the door behind them and followed her up the stairs. After drying off they would stay up and talk for a little while longer before heading to sleep.

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><p><strong>I think their date went well, hopefully it wasn't too boring or something. I probably won't be doing another date that takes up a full chapter unless it's needed or you guys want me to. By the way, suggestions are always welcomed. Until next time, please review!<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**It's been way too long since I last updated. Sorry about that but life happens and sometimes finding time to type isn't easy. Hopefully a longer chapter will make up for it. Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. **

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><p>Although alone, Molly could still hear the bustling of commotion going on around her. She was in the middle of her own work in the hospital and had to pay no heed to the three people brought straight into the ER after a car accident, which from what was heard when passing two doctors in the hallway, they were pretty banged up. It wasn't something unfamiliar when in this line of occupation, so she simply had to keep going.<p>

Before noon she had done five postmortems, written each one a review on the cause of death and so forth, and once lunch was over and everyone left the canteen, Molly went straight back to filing some papers. Her mind may have drifted to Sherlock every now and again, like it always did, but their date last night wasn't something she could easily dismiss.

The consulting detective was probably the last person she ever though could be romantic, if only a little for she knew how seriously he took to certain tasks. Even when returning to Baker Street, they stayed up talking about all kinds of things. Mrs. Hudson only came up once during the late hour to bring up some tea and took the moment, with simple curiosity, to ask about where they were, upon Sherlock swiftly and unnoticeably altered the subject.

The old woman was loved by him but he did have a thing or two to complain about when it came to her uncanny ability to come in during the worst of times. Sherlock expressed the very opinion in a languidly tone. Though it was by force of habit he said things in such a manner when tired. The idea of sleep, however, eluded him once the conversation picked up again.

He went on about a couple of the smaller cases he handled between planning John and Mary's wedding, some with the army doctor and others without his company. Of course, Molly was interested in hearing about them and liked to learn exactly how he pieced together all the clues he picked up when inspecting the crime scenes. Brilliant was the word many used to describe him but sometimes even that term didn't satisfy the length of his intelligence.

When midnight came around, Molly suggested they get some rest and Sherlock agreed with some reluctance since he was getting a few fragments of information about her childhood as they went on. He had noticed in the past how closed up she was about sparring details on the subject and asked in a roundabout way why that was. He came to the conclusion even before bringing it up the reason had something to do with her father.

In return she inquired about his younger years and received bits of info he never spared to tell anyone, even John. Still, being open was visibly difficult until he went on for a while and settled into it. It was a shame to cut the discussion short, seeing as she wanted to keep talking as well, but she already caught herself yawing from how late they were awake.

Molly brushed a few strands of loose hair behind her ear whilst reading through a list of names just as another employee came into the room to tell her there was someone waiting outside to speak to her. Although some puzzlement brightened her features, she placed her things on the nearby counter and headed out the door. To her surprise, she met the face of Mycroft Holmes.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting something important, Miss Hooper," he initially stated with an air of vagueness. One hand rested on the handle of his umbrella, the material slightly damp from the light showers that carried throughout the day, while the other folded on top, the ring of his finger visible.

"No, of course not," Molly remarked with a single shake of her head. "I was just doing some routine procedures." She was in slight awe of his appearance though. Sherlock mentioned how he might stop by any day to see her, granting he expressed his dislike to the idea. "You can just call me Molly, by the way."

"I'm sure my brother would disapprove, but I suppose it's expected of me to be less formal with you now that you're dating him." He then took a light breath, openly showing he was here more on business than on terms of a friendly visit and had to go out if his way to make the stop. "Would you mind going somewhere less crowded? The noise is bothersome."

Giving a nod in agreement, she lead him to the lab, it being unoccupied for the better part of an hour should suffice for whatever it was he came here for. He took a trailing few steps after she relaxed against the countertop and finally positioned himself closely to the way he was standing before. "I don't want to get straight to the point but why are you here?" she asked, her voice polite yet inquisitive.

"I'd prefer we skip the small talk as well," Mycroft replied, not intending to stay long. He met her gaze and for a second let a small smile slip through. "I'm simply here on the grounds that you and Sherlock are a couple. I spoke with him the other day, as you know. I'm positive you have no ulterior intentions, considering your background and time spent with him." Not to mention the fact that he'd know just from looking at her. "But surely you are aware of the kinds of situations my brother gets himself into."

His heart was in the right place that was plain as day, nonetheless not something he'd admit to "I am. Most of them are dangerous but what does that have to do with me?" she asked, intertwining her fingers together, needing to do something with them.

"On the contrary, I do not wish any harm to befall you on his account. Moriarty turned his attention to John, Mrs. Hudson, and Detective Inspector Lestrade and even though I went over this with him, you should be on your guard. I would hate for my brother to be put in such a position again. He gets fairly reckless," he stated with just an edge of disapproval.

"I know, which worries me but he's also very good at getting himself out of situations," the doctor added, which was true enough. Sherlock was quick on his feet and great at using his surroundings to his advantage.

"And thus far he constantly turns to others for help, you in particular." Mycroft noticed her fondness towards him early on, Christmas a few years back to be exact. He somewhat mistook Sherlock's downplay for romantic emotion, his vacillation for creative temperament and his idleness for philosophic composure. But he proved upon his friendship with John how caring he could be. The idea of him getting a girlfriend seemed more out of spectrum until, again, proven otherwise.

Nevertheless, he could still read his younger sibling well and knew him better than most. They grew up together after all. Expressing sentiment wasn't something he outwardly did, instead his concern was more discrete and he preferred it that way, though it was placed between them on occasion.

"I was surprised the first time he actually asked me for help, when it came to Moriarty, I mean," she mentioned, the statement not meant to be commented on. He did, however, tilt his head down a bit to show his understanding. "But, you're basically telling me I should be careful?" It was something she was aware of and his mention reestablished the fact.

"Extremely so," Mycroft remarked, raising both brows. "Plus the press can be absolutely savage." Although it was the cause of fame for most, it always had its down points. Many members of the government suffered from vary forms of slander on a daily basis.

Molly recognized from the moment he walked in Mycroft was doing this all for Sherlock's benefit. It didn't matter how many times he conveyed his annoyance of it. They were family. The older Holmes always put his brother before himself. She could see, just from talking to him, how much he looked out for him.

It had grown quiet for a moment but not more than a few seconds were allowed to pass before the door handle could be heard turning and the squeak made, since the hinges absolutely needed to be oiled, that pulled Molly's attention away. Mycroft merely let out a subtle sigh, ready for the newly arrived guest, whose shoes screeched against the tile floor already telling him the puddle, the very one he avoided while coming in, was stepped through and carelessly done at that.

"I knew you'd be here," Sherlock said, irritation underlying his tone. He rolled his eyes but the action was missed by both. Once his brother faced him and gave his usual greeting, nothing tremendously cordial, he continued. "This whole seeing each other on a regular basis thing, it's not really working for me. Actually, it's getting very annoying."

"I told you we'd be in each other's company more when you called during the wedding, brother mine," he offered in place of making a snippy remark in return. "Besides, I figured you'd prefer me stopping here instead of having Anthea pick her up."

"Doesn't mean I want you imposing," Sherlock said, allowing his word to hang there for a moment prior to moving so he was standing next to Molly. She glanced up at him but he didn't say anything to mention his notice.

"I suppose you're here for an actual reason," Mycroft went on to say. "Then again you regard this place as your home from home, do you not? And your visitation history is numerous. Although, I don't advise staying from dusk to dawn often, you let so much time slip by like that." Not that is was any of his business how he spent his days, he simply pointed it out.

"Pease tell me you're here for something else that doesn't involve my schedule or my relationship with Molly, otherwise you can go." He made a motion towards the door, as he wasn't in the mood to devote his evening conversing with his older brother over tedious matters.

"Indeed I do." He paused for a second to clear his throat. "I took the liberty of declining a job offer on your behalf. I am sure you'd rather stay stationed in London, considering your girlfriend and all. It would only have you away for a month but it's nothing we can't handle. I'll have one of my best agents on the task tomorrow morning."

"Consider it refused," he dully announced with a shrug of his shoulders. Regardless, his natural inquisitiveness got the better of him. "What was it?" Sherlock then asked as he tilted his head a fraction to the left.

Mycroft suppressed the knowing look that threatened to appear, aware of his need to be informed even if it was no longer involved him. "Just a little squabble in the Netherlands, Haarlem to be precise. Hardly worth your expertise despite the request."

"Fine. Is that's all?" Sherlock asked, receiving a nod in return. "Alright, have a good day, brother dear, and I do hope our next meeting will have more space in between." He placed his hand on Molly's back and started walking away to lead her out of the room with him, only taking a short glance back as he said his farewell. "Come along, Molly. I have corpses to look at."

She didn't protest as they left and headed to the room where the deceased were kept. He was certain Mycroft was on his way out as well once he took out his phone, most likely telling his driver to bring the limo around front. Paying no mind to that, he took out a piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to Molly just before they reached their destination. "I'm sure these two men are on your list, correct?" he asked, as they entered the space.

"Yeah, I did their autopsies this morning," Molly stated after reading the scribbled names. Going to pull them out, she motioned for him to move back some. "So, why did Mycroft drop by now? Couldn't he have said all of that when he was leaving the flat after coming to talk to you?"

He took a few steps away, leaving just enough room. "It's just the way my brother is. He knew I'd disapprove of it so, much like he did to John, he wanted to speak with you without me around. Can't be helped, but it's still frustrating," he mentioned, although his tone didn't reflect the context of the sentence.

Simply passing off the matter, seeing as he shrugged it off, she went on about what he was here for. "They're a bit bashed up," she said, pulling the sheets downward so for their heads were visible. "It was difficult to get much from them. I have to wait for police reports to come in before the rest of their information could be written in. Each died from being strangled though."

"That's one common factor down," he mildly pointed out before coming up to examine them further. "Now let's see if their deaths coincide with the one that happened this morning. Both around the same age, that's obvious." Sherlock lowered down and got a better look at their necks. "As I suspected they are bruised in the same areas. The hand imprint is rather large, which separates the wound from others. The color's faded since last night, still that's enough to connect them. The rest of their bodies, please."

"You're onto something, aren't you?" Molly asked. She could tell he was simply from the look in his eyes. He simply gave a nod as she pulled the covers off. Solely watching him move back and forth so deep in thought and hearing him mutter to himself, it always intrigued her. "Do you know who killed them or are you still working on that?"

"Pretty good idea," he uttered while in thinking. "I already have my Homeless Network tracking him down as we speak. Could take a while to find him, but Lestrade can't do much about him at this point."

* * *

><p><em>Sherlock passed under the yellow tape, following after Greg as they entered the area being blocked off to the public. It was enclosed, a tight space, even more so with so many people there taking notes and talking. The detective glanced over at his friend and let out a light sigh as they walked. "Go ahead, say whatever it is you want to say. Clearly there's something on your mind."<em>

_Seeing as it was pointless to deny the thoughts going through his head, he went on and started speaking. "Well, it's just I'm a bit surprised you didn't come down last night. Usually you'd be at the crime scene right away." Whatever kept him must have been important. He didn't even receive a text until the next morning._

"_I was busy," he ambiguously remarked, his gaze kept forward, not wanting to say anything about being on his date with Molly. His focus changed from one thing to another as soon as the body was seen. "What have we got here?" Approaching the dead woman covered by a sheet, he knelt to the ground, deducing the victim right away, eyes narrowing just a bit._

_Lestrade stood there in silence, letting Sherlock work. He also wanted to ask about John, since he wasn't around, but figured he'd wait for a better time. He realized, over the last few jobs, Molly was tagging along a lot more lately but mostly he was by himself. "Any ideas?" Greg asked when he got to his feet and took a breath._

"_Three so far. Our killer hasn't left us with much, hardly anything considering the state of her body. Randomly dumped on the side of an alley too," he added, taking a pause to look at their surroundings, turning in a complete circle. "Two?" he questioned himself prior to crouching again. "No, just one. How could I not see it the moment we walked in? So apparent, there could be no other explanation," he expressed to himself in a slight scold._

_Greg crossed his arms and peered at the corpse as well. He didn't see anything different that would make him so sure of himself. "Would you mind walking me through it? How is it obvious?" _

"_What's the first thing you notice when you look at this body?" he asked, his hand moving in her direction. "Everything has been removed, no clothing, no jewelry, and barely any markings. There's no blood on her at all either. Speaking about that, where are her clothes? You found them around here, I'm assuming. The killer wouldn't have gone out of their way to get rid of them. They never do unless planned and time was on our murder's side, not when discarding this one." With a motion, Anderson gave him what he asked for, already bagged for evidence. He brought his hands up to think. "I usually ask John for a second opinion, but he's not here. What do you make of them?"_

"_I don't see how her outfit is going to help but, uh, it's apparently something a woman in business would wear." He stopped for a moment, unsure of what else to add. "You can tell from the style. It's pretty common, so tracking her place of business won't be easy. Office work or maybe some kind of secretary?"_

"_Interesting, though elementary. You missed all the important parts. Don't look at it as a whole. For example, the fabric, the color is starting to fade, which could mean it was worn a lot but that's only part of it. The material was washed on many accounts, confirming the fact that she has to wear the same uniform to work every day because she cannot afford another. The state of her attire tells us that," Sherlock went on to say.__ "__She'd been dead for a few hours, coming home from a late shift from work."_

"_How do you know that?" Greg asked, although expecting him to go on even without his question. He tended to ramble out the facts as if they were as clear as day to everyone, always expressing how they overlooked the details. _

"_Look at the shoes she wore, high heels." He took them out from the bag and held them up. "These are newly bought. That could mean she was just replacing them, but not that brand, they're an expensive make. A gift perhaps? The backsplash on the heels compared to the mud on the front. She was running to get out of the rain. If you compare the time the body was found and when it poured last, the answers staring you right in the face."_

_Sherlock walked back to the body, placing himself between her and the road. "Now, you can tell she was left here in a careless manner by the way she was practically thrown and look over there. Tire tracks. You have to be coming to a rather hard stop to leave them, a screeching sound must have been heard. Not wanting to risk being caught, he simply dropped her there and left."_

_The detective then came back around. "You said the other two were in the same shape. I'll have to drop by Bart's to check out for myself. You always miss something. Get a DNA swatch and send me your findings. Her name will help fill in the gaps for your investigation. Then you can contact family members and figure out if the other's social patterns match in any way. They probably work for the same person. I will set my sights on locating the killer."_

"_Do you even know where to begin with that or are you making a guess on who did it?" Lestrade inquired, having to make sure. Sherlock had a habit of going off on his own without informing others of his reasons, proven on many cases. _

"_I never guess. I don't need to. Look there." He pointed downward at the deceased woman. "Heavy bruising along the throat, we've seen this particular method before, hence the certainty I expressed earlier. It seems like our old friend The Golem is back in London. He was hired to kill these people. There's something someone is trying to hide and those three knew about it. Once we figure out what connects them, we'll have our answer." _

* * *

><p>"The Golem?" Molly repeated after he went through what happened. The name sounded familiar, but she wasn't able to remember where she heard it. "Didn't one of your previous cases involve him?"<p>

"Yes, it was one of Moriarty's 'figure this out before I blow someone up' puzzles. He took his name from a Jewish folk story. Gigantic man made of clay. He's an assassin, one of the deadliest in the world. Trademark style is squeezing the life out of his victims with his bare hands, stripping the corpse completely so no evidence can be drawn," Sherlock explained while sending a text to Greg, confirming his discoveries.

"Strange, I never thought you'd be after an assassin," Molly said, wheeling the bodies back. After all, she couldn't afford getting caught having them out. "I'm guessing it's pretty risky going after him." The worry in her voice wasn't hidden, nor did her face render a calm appearance.

"I've been against worst odds," he told her. They both knew that was true, still his expression grew softer at the sight of her dismay. Before he got the chance to make another comment, his phone went off. With a sigh, he pulled it out again. "Looks like my Homeless Network caught sight of him sooner than expected. Sorry to drop by and leave so suddenly but I have to see where this lead takes me. I should be finished some time after you return to the flat if everything goes as anticipated."

"Do you need help with anything else?" she asked, despite knowing he didn't. It made her feel better offering her assistance whenever possible. Sherlock Holmes was known to be reckless, especially when on a job alone. "I could always meet you after my shift if you want me to."

"Too dangerous." He appreciated the proposal but the man he was after wasn't someone to take lightly. He took a step towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder for his own reassurance. "I'd feel better if you stayed out of this one. You'll be safer here and at Baker Street."

A reluctant nod was made as he pulled away, the comfort slipping along with him. Suddenly, she didn't feel as secure anymore, like his closeness was needed to sustain her nerves. "Can you at least bring John along then?" Molly asked. Having him there would appease her since the army doctor was more rational when it came to certain situations.

"Texting him as we speak," he mentioned, briefly showing her his mobile while walking towards the door. Within the next second he stopped and veered back around "Oh, I almost forgot." Sherlock walked back up to her and kissed her on the lips, the sensation still as stimulating as the first time, and pulled away after a few moments. Catching the way her cheeks turned bright pink, he let a smile show and left without another word.

* * *

><p>Molly returned to an empty flat, Toby being the only one present. He slept soundly on Sherlock's chair, not even waking when she walked past him. She kept herself busy while waiting for the consulting detective to come back, taking a shower being her first objective. Stopping in the kitchen first she opened a can of cat food and placed it on the ground for when he woke up, noticing how there was never much in the kitchen. She made a mental note to go shopping soon.<p>

Afterwards she changed into something more comfortable and then spoke to Mary on the phone, their conversation jumping between a few different subjects, her and John's unborn child being the center of the discussion. Molly always thought the idea of having a child was wonderful, her working schedule, however, was hectic and ever changing. She still didn't know Sherlock's view on the whole thing but it was too early to ask any questions.

By the time they hung up, she got situated on the couch made use of the television, since it was hardly turned on, and watched a couple of programs before bickering was heard from outside the door. Their voices were recognized right away but she didn't get up until they came inside and saw Sherlock's arm over John's shoulder for support as he came staggering in.

"I told you, I'm fine," the youngest Holmes somewhat shouted in his usual irritated tone, the state of his wellbeing visibly the source of their conflict. A childish fuss was made prior to him standing on his own and then hobbling over to the sofa. He collapsed on the cushion and restrained the need to continue his slightly melodramatic rant.

"Then why are you having trouble walking?" John asked with a shake of his head. Seeing as he didn't expect a reply in return pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to cool down from their lengthy argument. "Just let me have a look at it. And, Molly," he said then addressing her, "could you take care of that cut on the side of his face?"

Molly nodded and quickly ran to get the first aid kit. Sitting next to him, she started to wipe the blood away. "It's not deep so that's good," she muttered. He didn't put up a fight when she came over, only let out a heavy breath. Once the wound was cleaned and a bandage was placed on, she turned to John. "What happened?"

"The Golem remembered us and Sherlock made him angry," the army doctor told her, continuing to examine his ankle. "It's sprained and swollen pretty badly. Make sure to keep it elevated for now and I'll get some ice." With that said, he went into the kitchen.

"I'm alright," Sherlock told Molly the moment his friend left. He gave her a comforting smile, hoping to calm her down. "It's clearly nothing serious. I wasn't shot or in need of the hospital. The real problem is he's gone. It will take weeks to track him down again. He always manages to get away. I have to go." The second he stood and put pressure on his foot pain spiked up his leg and caused him to fall back on the couch.

John came in the room with a bag of ice and tossed it over. "You're not going anywhere for the next two days, doctor's orders," he mentioned as Sherlock unwillingly placed the frozen liquid on his throbbing ankle. A look was given in response and met with a raised brow.

"Do you honestly expect me to sit around for the next forty-eight hours doing nothing?" He crossed his arms and leaned backwards, his head tipping further until his eyes caught sight of the ceiling. "I'll drown in my own boredom. Besides, I'm in the middle of a very important case and I would prefer it if I could have it finished by tonight, if possible."

"I have off tomorrow, so I'll make sure he stays put," Molly told John despite her boyfriend's refusal. As a specialist registrar she was perfectly capable of taking care of a sprain. Although Sherlock very much seemed against the idea of not working, she hoped he'd let Greg take care of the rest.

"Good luck with that. Sherlock normally does what he wants regardless of what people say." And that was accurate enough. John knew, simply from the times his friend had no cases to go on how impatient and erratic he became.

Looking between the two of them as they went on talking about him, he let out a sigh. "I'm right here, you know? And I don't need to be watched over. In fact, I'll be fine by morning. Though I'm positive you'll still be stopping over anyway, John. But like I said, it's _unnecessary_." He stressed the last word simply because he disliked the direction of their focus as it should be placed on finding the Golem or at least figuring out who hired him.

"There's nothing else we can do about it. We're lucky your Homeless Network found him in the first place, though considering the outcome I would say otherwise," he said in slight gesture to his friend's leg. "He also could have killed us and I have no doubt he would have too if there wasn't a risk of bringing so much attention to himself."

"How true of you to say." Sherlock brought his fingers together and drummed them across. "Regardless, you're still wrong. There is another thing we can do unless you want more people die. Then by all means we'll sit and do nothing. But if you want to help, then we need to go back to where we found him and see if there's any evidence there. Anything to connect him to our possible suspect. I'm hoping Lestrade narrowed down by now. Yet I don't put too much faith in his capabilities."

"Fine, alright. I will check it out and let you know what I find. You, on the other hand, are staying right where you are." John dropped his shoulders, the tension felt dissipated but not completely. "I'm going to have to tell Mary I'll be back later than expected."

After his call, John left the flat, his expression dragged down by the frustration flowing through. He wasn't angry at Sherlock, cross maybe but only slightly. If he hadn't acted so hastily, confronting the Golem without any caution, they could have at least detained him until the police arrived. Instead he got himself injured and didn't seem to care at all.

"Why is he so riled up? Doesn't he see the importance of this job?" Sherlock asked, turning to face Molly. He was impressed by John's self-control on the matter, though his tone was a bit tactless. He supposed the reason for his behavior drew from the event itself, once again life threatening and more dangerous than the previous encounter. Reasonable but not something to stress about considering the risk they've found themselves in before.

As she said nothing back, he took a moment to observe her detachment. Picking up on many things, he noticed from the way she held herself that she too held the same feelings as his best friend, only they weren't expressed in the same manner and shown through her eyes rather than word of mouth. Perhaps he should reconsider his objections, however dreary the thought was.

"I think he cared more about you than the job," Molly finally said, her dejections draining as she went on. "But John is right, you can't do anything but sit here for two days. Of course occasionally you can move around but not unless essential."

"Being under house arrest, how mind-numbingly tedious." He rubbed his temples. "But you'll be here, so it won't be all that bad. We haven't had the chance to spend a lot of time together alone all at once. That's probably the only good thing to come out of it." He paused and silence took over. Shifting around in his seat, uncomfortable from the position, he moved until finally settling. "What now?"

"Seeing as you haven't eaten since this morning, I can order some takeaway, seeing as there isn't much here and I'd hate to wake Mrs. Hudson." She could tell he was about to deny, use the excuse of still working, but she knew better than that. One could only go so long without having some food in their system.

A pleaded look was sent his way and with a slight roll of his eyes, he gave in. "Okay, okay, pick whatever you want," he stated with a flick of his hand. "You pretty much know what I like anyway."

The food was ordered and came within a reasonable time. While they ate the first twenty minutes was spent idly chatting about various topics, Molly attempting to keep his mind off of the case for a while. It was more agreeable to talk about other things than work anyway, hers being monotonous and dull compared to his. By the next hour John called saying whatever was found at the scene was sent to forensics and after a few quick remarks back and forth Molly managed to get him to apologize to him, although he did it in his usual way, it was acceptable enough.

Once everything was cleaned up, as it was late, Molly helped him to his room. It being the first time she was actually there, she took in its appearance, rather plain but decorated accordingly. It was altogether simple and suitable for Sherlock Holmes. Once he was on his bed, she made an attempt to leave only to have her wrist caught by his hand.

"Molly?" he questioned, her name slipping out with little recognition. He couldn't fathom why he felt the sudden want to have her stay but a pause was made. His exhaustion weighed heavily; however,his need for her to be close took over. Sherlock never expected himself to require such a thing before. Intimacy, love, affection, all of them were new and strangely addictive, like a drug he couldn't have enough of.

He couldn't get the words out, especially when her eyes rested on him. Sleeping in the same bed was usual for people who were dating and living together, a common occurrence that didn't matter all that much in detail to him until in a relationship of his own. And now he struggled to pull back from the notion. "Nothing, never mind," he finally said, with a small shake of his head.

Although he could sense how dissimilar it was to his nature, it befuddled him quite easily. Keeping people at a distance was required, yet not completely sought after once John entered his life. Molly soon made her own mark. She was always there, just not picked up on due to his characteristics and tendencies to put his focus on work and nothing more.

Molly gave a nod, seeming to be hesitantly made, perhaps providing him with the fact that she knew he had wanted to say something else entirely. She wouldn't press him to continue, she simply said goodnight before walking out of the room. At that, Sherlock took a breath, resting against the pillow. Uncertainty once more found its way to him.

When he turned away, a subtle breath escaped. Mycroft warned him not to get involved but he was afraid he was already in too deep. The simplicity of it all was stunning. His mind was filled with knowledge, he devoted his life to learning and solving crimes and yet, here he was thinking the exact opposite of what he said. Love was a dangerous disadvantage, however he didn't admit to it being as profound as of that now. Perhaps confessing it was too difficult and moreover, it was too early to know for sure when they haven't even been together for a week.

He was happy being with her, which was all that mattered. And if this is how John and Mary felt then he really was grateful they found one another. It was a lot to take in initially and the contemplations still had his mind reeling. Finally bringing himself to push those issues away or at least put them to the back of his mind for another day, Sherlock closed his eyes and drifted off soon after.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope my next chapter will be out sooner than later. I'm trying to get some progress in their relationship with every chapter. It takes time for these things to develop, especially when someone who has been closed off to the idea for so long suddenly finds themselves wanting to be with another person. Please review and let me know your thoughts.<strong>


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